The Storyteller and The Impossible Girl
by sherlockedbyben
Summary: "Hello! Are you ready for the story?" When Clara Oswald meets a mysterious man named Jim Moriarty who is full of secrets and stories, she is intrigued. But what does this dangerous man and his fairy tales have to do with the Doctor?
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, thanks for clicking on my story!**

**So I was just sitting there, like on twitter and stuff - Which is all my life consists of, basically - And I was after watching The Reichenbach Fall. Then I just thought, hey- Wholock. Hey- Clara Oswald and Jim Moriarty. Hey- NEW SHIP!**

**So I got obsessed quite instantly, and a lot of people on twitter seemed to think it was a good idea too, so I started this fanfic! I was given inspiration for it by a twitter buddy and I just had to write something about it!**

**Soo I hope you like it and I hope I make you ship Clariarty (Idk man, if you think of a better ship name for them please tell me). Enjoy, and help a writer out and leave a review, eh?**

Clara Oswald had always loved stories. When she was younger, her mother read to her frequently and she adored letting herself live in a world of fantasy for those few precious hours. _101 Places To See_ would forever be her favourite. She read all the time; in the bath, curled up in her favourite armchair, even while making soufflés, though she still wasn't certain that doing that was the smartest of moves. Most of her books weren't in the best condition, damp, dogged eared pages with sprinklings of flour scattered across the thin paper, but she liked that. She liked to see a book that had been read, that had been loved. Stories were made to be told.

The vast library had been her favourite room in the Tardis- Still was, although she had instructed the Doctor to leave her on Earth for a few months. It wasn't as if she wanted space, or was sick of him, as she had continuously assured her sensitive Chin Boy best friend, but she wanted to get her human life back on track. It was hard to concentrate on organising school work for her students when she was busy fighting off aliens alongside an eccentric Time Lord, and saving Galaxies took its toll. She wanted to spend some quality time with her family, and, though she had been desperately trying to avoid them until now, she knew that she had responsibilities on Earth that she needed to tend to.

"It's just for a few months, Chinny," She laughed cheerfully, shifting her small suitcase to one arm and chucking the Doctor under his overgrown chin with her free hand. "You'll be able to live without me for that long, won't you? Or will you die of withdrawal?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes theatrically at her mocking wink. "You won't be able to stop me from visiting, Oswald. Don't think you can get rid of me that easily."

"Visit?" Clara scoffed with a joking smile and brought the Time lord in for a hug. "You'll be too busy saving planets to even think about me, Doctor."

The Doctor grumbled good-naturedly and retreated into the Tardis with a forlorn smile. He adjusted his bowtie absent-mindedly, a habit of his when stuck for what to do, and raised his hand in a salute. "Until next time, Clara Oswald."

"Just remember to wear clothes to the next family dinner, alright?" Clara called with a cheeky grin as the Tardis dematerialised. She watched it go with a heavy heart and a sad smile, and stared almost longingly at the place where it had been for minutes after it had gone completely. A small, anxious part of her was afraid that he would never come back, that this was it, but she opted to ignore the doubtful voice.

"You're just a story," She muttered softly, addressing the nagging doubt in her head as she walked back to her apartment at a leisurely pace, a far cry from the frantic running she was used to. "Just an untold story."

It was days later when her "normal" Earth life began to change. She had settled back into her daily routine of coffee, school, and sleep rather easily, and she was content with that. However, fate didn't seem to want Clara to have a chance at a normal life.

It was on that third day after being deposited on Earth that she first saw him. The Man.

Clara grumbled to herself half-heartedly as she picked up her papers from her desk, stuffing them carelessly into her bag that she reserved for work. It had been a long day and though she loved the kids she taught, she had to admit she was glad to leave them for the day. Courtney had thrown her copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ at another boy's head _again_, and the prospect of the next parent teacher conference that was looming on the horizon was becoming more daunting by the minute. She just needed to switch off. The shrill ringing of the bell was more than welcome to her, and she smiled at the thought of going home to her cosy flat and curling up with a good book. A story was just what she needed to get away from the hustle and bustle of life.

She crossed paths with a couple of her colleagues as she was leaving and gave them a quick wave, departing from the building and preparing for the journey home. She decided to take a more scenic route back, she preferred walking surrounded by nature as opposed to walking through the busy London streets. The air was fresher and it made her feel more relaxed.

"Home, tea, book, then bed," She muttered to herself absent-mindedly as she took a short cut through the park nearby, breathing in the fresh air deeply and smiling at the burnt-orange autumn leaves that fluttered restlessly around her. She had made a habit of mumbling to herself at times, she had a nagging suspicion that she picked it up from the Doctor.

"You know talking to yourself is considered the first sign of madness."

Clara froze, stopping in her tracks at the unfamiliar voice that, for some reason, had just addressed her. She half frowned, half smiled and turned around slowly, clutching her bag to her securely as curiosity welled up in the pit of her stomach.

"Of course, I'm not an expert on the subject," The man spoke again with a surprisingly soft Irish lilt to his playful tone of voice.

"Hello," Clara began cautiously, cocking her head to the side with a small smile. "Who're you then?"

"Just a stranger," The man responded with a smirk. "A passer-by."

Clara took a careful step forward and squinted to get a better look at the man. He was half concealed by the shelter of the trees and almost hidden by the dusk light, but she could just about make him out. He was dressed in a sophisticated manner, a light grey suit and polished shoes which made Clara feel as if this man was someone important. He wasn't tall, but Clara could tell even from the short distance between them that he was a small bit taller than her. Then again, it didn't take much for someone to be taller than her, she really was quite petite and the Doctor mocked her about it to no end.

The man's lean frame was leaning against the old oak tree casually, seeming so sure of himself that it was almost as if he had planned this meeting. _That could just be his personality,_ Clara thought to herself with a small smile. _He could just be really cocky._

His dark brown hair was cropped short and it matched the colour of his deep brown eyes. They were dark, Clara realised, and not just in colour. Though the man held a smile on his -quite handsome, Clara noted- face, his eyes did not seem quite as friendly. Almost cold, in fact. Or maybe Clara was just over-analysing things. After all, it wasn't difficult for someone's mind to go into overdrive when something as strange and unexpected as this happened.

"Well then, Mister Mysterious," Clara allowed a slow grin to creep across her face, stopping a short distance away from the man. She didn't trust him, not yet but she was curious as to why he had singled her out from everyone else in this busy city to talk to. Though she realised with a small shiver, the park around her was almost practically deserted, save for a few people walking a good distance away. "Are you gunna come out of the shadows or what? I can't see you from all the way over there."

"Then why don't you come closer?" The man purred in a playful manner. Clara couldn't help but feel intimidated, like he was a lion playing with his prey, and she was the unfortunate gazelle. She took a deep breath, unwilling to let her fear show. She wasn't scared yet. She had faced much worse than an intimidating, mysterious man.

"I think I'm fine here, thanks," She smiled brightly as a leaf fluttered by her face. The man shifted slightly but did not approach, giving a low chuckle.

"As you wish," He murmured, then paused. A hint of a smirk tugged at his lips. "Do you like stories?"

Clara blinked, stumped for a moment by the unexpected question. "Stories?" She parroted back, unsure if she had heard correctly.

"Like I said," The man gave a slow inclining of his head, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I... Don't know what you mean," Clara frowned, unsure how to respond.

"You don't know what a story is?" The man took a small, calculated step closer, the light from between the overhanging leaves illuminating his face to reveal a playful grin. Clara folded her arms and rolled her eyes with a small smile.

"No, I meant-"

"It's just a simple question," The man cut her off, keeping his tone light but with a hint of seriousness about it that Clara did not fail to pick up on. "Or do you not know what questions are either?"

"Just cut to the chase, eh?" Clara encouraged him earnestly, becoming increasingly perplexed. She wrapped her arms around herself, unsure if it was the man's presence or the wind that was making her feel so cold.

"_Oh_, a feisty one," The man grimaced and pulled a face jokingly whilst Clara tried and failed to contain her amused smile. The stranger smirked again. "Alright, I'll go first. _I_ like stories."

Clara paused, her eyebrows knitting together as she tilted her head to the side. "Is... That it?"

"No, that's just the beginning," The man stated bluntly, his tone clipped. Something dark and clever was brewing in his eyes. "Because I know you like stories too. Isn't that right?"

"Okay," Clara let out a breath she hadn't realised she'd been holding, unsure as to when the conversation had taken this more serious turn. She took a hesitant step back, beginning to feel threatened by the man's evasive behaviour.

"Oh, no, don't get scared _now_," The man's eyes widened in false innocence. "The story's only just beginning."

"What do you mean?" Clara stammered, putting more distance between herself and the stranger, though he still made no move to approach.

"Don't you want to hear the story?" The man's tone now had an intimidating undertone to it.

"No, thank you," Clara turned briskly and began to walk away at a fast pace, clutching her arms around herself for comfort.

"Oh, you'll want to hear it soon enough," The man called lazily from behind her in a tantalizing drawl. "Fairy tales."

Clara's breath caught in her throat as she walked on, on the brink of breaking into a sprint. She kept throwing fervent glances over her shoulder even when she had long since left the park behind her, half afraid that the man might be following her. She didn't know what it was that he wanted, and that scared her. Confusion, not knowing... That was terrifying to her. Worse than any Dalek. Because at least then, _then_ she knew what she was up against.

She was extremely grateful when she reached her flat, making sure the door was firmly locked once she was safely inside. She walked to the kitchen in a daze, putting the kettle on instantaneously and throwing herself down in her chair. She reached for her book but paused, the man's words ringing in her ears.

_"Do you like stories?"_

She shook her head disparagingly and got up to make herself a cup of tea, her brain on overdrive as she went.

"If I was in any real danger, the Doctor would save me," She shook her head, scolding herself for allowing herself to even consider being frightened and attempting to wipe the strange encounter from her mind. She realised she had been stirring her tea for far too long and curled up in the armchair once more, this time actually picking up the book.

She stared adamantly at the cover and sighed, wishing she knew what was going on.

_"Because you like stories too. Isn't that right?"_

Clara groaned, throwing her book to the side without reading a word and decided to get an early night. She tucked the duvet covers around her securely, like she would when she was younger to keep the monster from under the bed at bay.

The familiar face of the mysterious man starred in her dreams.

**I hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing it! I just think this is such a good idea for a ship, Clara would try to deny that Moriarty is a bad guy because she tries to see the good in everyone and OH I SHIP IT SO HARD RIGHT NOW!**

**I seem to have a fascination with fictional villains. Is there something wrong with me? Come on, who else prefers the villain to the hero in most things?**

**Like for example in Thor, I do love Thor but I can't deny, I like Loki better. Anyone else got any examples like that? I'm interested to see what you guys think :D**

**But anyway, whaddaya think of the first chappie? ;;) I'm gunna start writing the second straight away, but if you don't think it's good, I mightn't continue, so just let me know if I should :P Idk if it's interesting or not, so let me know :) Constructive criticism is sooo welcome as well so please feel free to tell me how I can improve!**

**So, leave a review? [Moriarty voice] For me? Pleeeeeeaaaaaseeee?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Heey guys it's me again :D WOW first off, I wanna say a HUGE thank you to everyone who reviewed, I really didn't expect that much positive response :D Ily all and you have inspired me to keep writing this fanfic :) It's so fun to write, and the ideas are just flying around in my head and I have to get them out!**

**So THANK YOU SO MUCH for the reveiws, they mean so much to me :)**

**Like seriously, I literally squealed when I read some of the amazing comments and my family looked at me weird. Anyway, enjoy this chapter! :D**

Clara returned to consciousness with a start, jolting upright into a sitting position as her eyes flashed open wide, suddenly devoid of all previous traces of tiredness. Her hair fell around her face haphazardly as she struggled to take deep, calming breaths, the vivid image of the man from the day prior drifting slowly from her mind like smoke in the safe, comforting light of day.

"Just a dream," She murmured to herself as she kneaded the heels of her palms into her suddenly fatigued eyes, the tremble in her voice preventing her words from having the reassuring effect that she desired. She didn't know why she was reacting like this, it hadn't even been a nightmare. The man had just stood there as before, not doing anything remotely threatening. But something about him put her on edge. Perhaps it was that eerie sense that he knew more about her than she knew about him.

She groaned at her internal battle that she was so obviously losing and dragged herself out of bed. She was _not_ a morning person by any means, never had been, and she was adamant that she never would be. Even on the Tardis where it could be argued that there was no such thing as mornings she had a tendency to be particularly grouchy when she woke up, much to the irritation of the Time Lord who never seemed to need any sleep. It was a wonder how he managed to maintain his upbeat, convivial disposition without his full eight hours. She glanced at the clock out of habit as she passed it and did a double take.

"Damn," The word inadvertently fell from her lips as she hastily rushed to prepare her things for work and took the quickest shower imaginable. She was running late- Scratch that, she was literally _running_. This was the last thing she needed. She slipped on her bracelet with the delicate Gallifreyan symbols engraved into the cool, hard metal. The Doctor had given it to her shortly before she left, and she had vowed to wear it everywhere while he was away. In a way, she was beginning to regret telling him to leave her here for a few months. Things were far from normal, but in a way, she liked that. She had never really been one for the ordinary.

She avoided the park on her way to the school, pushing past hordes of people in the bustling London streets. This way might have involved more pushing and shoving to get her way, but least she wouldn't meet that man again.

A polite cough indicated to her that she was drastically wrong.

Seated languidly on a peeling wooden bench to her left, just off the pathway she was currently striding down as briskly as she could manage in her heeled boots (A little bit of extra height never hurt anyone), was the curious man from yesterday. He sat slightly hunched over, his elbows resting on his parted knees as he gazed at her intently, almost analysing her. His hands were steepled under his chin as if deep in thought, and Clara felt it almost impertinent to break him from his reverie, though she could help redirecting her path to approach him cautiously. She paused hesitantly, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. Her instinct was telling her to run far, far away, and her instinct was something that she heartily relied on in most situations, but something about the man's deep, brown eyes boring into hers kept her rooted to the spot. She could tell those eyes were full of secrets, full of stories.

She saw something in those intensely intimidating brown orbs, something which she suspected to be just a little hint of madness, perhaps mingled with just a dash of chaos. The tantalizing combination was enough to draw her in.

"Run, run, run as fast as you can," The guile stranger drawled in a sing song voice, tilting his head to the side alertly as if reading her very thoughts. He flexed his nimble fingers absentmindedly. "You can't catch me I'm the gingerbread man."

Clara blinked, wondering if this man really was insane.

"You left in quite a hurry yesterday, didn't you? Quite flustered, I dare say. Was it something I said?" The man chuckled impishly, patting the seat next to him in invitation.

Clara bit her lip warily. She felt safer now that there were more people around, and wasn't fully opposed to sitting down next to the man. She was curious about him, that was for sure, but she was already running late for work and she had made a promise to herself to put her profession first now that she had her feet planted firmly back on Earth again.

"I'm in a bit of a rush, actually. Places to go, people to see," She quipped back with an easy smile. "Sorry, you'll have to make an appointment."

"How awfully disappointing," The man feigned hurt and raised an eyebrow. He clicked his tongue impatiently, his eyes glinting with a hint of malice. "Go on, don't be tedious. Live a little. I know you're curious."

Clara paused, pursing her lips together in a thin line and waging an inward battle deep inside the confines of her mind. She couldn't deny that she was itching for another adventure, and well, he _was_ offering. Her curious nature caused her to naturally gravitate towards the clever man. It was tempting, but was it the right decision? She glanced in the direction of the school, torn.

"Or are you just boring and ordinary like the rest of them?" The man's voice was harsh and laced with resentful bitterness. Clara's eyes widened at his sudden change of tone and she arched an eyebrow. His scathing comment made the final decision for her.

"Alright," She plopped down onto the bench beside him. "Tell me your name then."

"Not important," The man flippantly waved off her demand with an impatient flap of his hand. His face had brightened considerably, quickly bouncing back from his previous moment of acute anger. "I want to know if you're _ready_ yet."

"Ready for what?" Clara huffed in barely concealed disdain at the dismissal of her question, wholehearted confusion occupying her thoughts once more.

"The story."

The reply was sharp and simple, and shed no light on the mass of whirling questions spinning around Clara's head at a dizzying rate.

"You keep saying that but I have no idea what you're talking about!" Clara snapped abruptly, raising her voice as she stood again.

"Maybe if you _listened_, you'd understand," The stranger remained seated, looking slightly amused at her outburst. "Honestly, of all the people I've given my precious time to, you're certainly the most stubborn."

He issued her with a sly smirk, the words sounding like a fairy tale themselves due to his lilting Irish accent.

"I suppose you'll have to get used to it," Clara raised a challenging eyebrow before spinning around swiftly and beginning to walk in the opposite direction. "If you're sticking around."

"Oh I will be, Clara Oswald."

The use of her name evoked a sharp gasp from Clara and she whipped around rapidly, only to find that the man was no longer there. She blinked then squinted, hastily searching for him but he had already been swallowed by the crowd of people, submerged in their depths. Clara's heart was hammering painfully hard in her chest. How had he known her name? Who was this man?

"Dammit, stupid mysterious bloke," She muttered, aware that she was now going to be _exceptionally_ late for work.

As predicted, she arrived at the school almost an hour late, inwardly cursing the cunning man for getting her in trouble. It was almost as if that was his intent, to waste her time so she'd be late, just for his own childish amusement. She ignored the disapproving glare from the head of the school, apologising swiftly and beginning her lesson. Despite her prevailing efforts, she simply couldn't concentrate as she attempted to inform the kids of the importance of Jane Austen, a topic which would usually induce great enthusiasm from her. Every time she thought she had managed to omit him from her racing thoughts, the man would somehow meander his way back into her sub-consciousness and settle there.

She was adamant to get to know him, to understand just what exactly it was that he wanted from her. With that in mind, she quickly rose from her desk the moment the bell rang for lunch and left without a word. She knew she didn't have long, forty minutes tops before she would have to go back. She wrapped her jacket more securely around her as the cold wind bit at her face, aching to go back inside where it was warm and she was surrounded by things she was certain of, but also determined to find this man and get answers. Her stubbornness and determination won out of course. She checked the park where they had first met, even peered out onto the street but there was no sign of the man. She was irritable by this time and decided to return to the school. She huffed, disgruntled at the man's lack of cooperation. She came to the solid conclusion that if he wanted her, he could come and find her.

Having been out for most of the lunch break, she didn't particularly want to join the staffroom and eat with the other teachers, so she took to her classroom instead. She fumbled for her keys, knowing that the doors to every classroom were always locked at lunch time. She sighed in annoyance, unable to find her keys anywhere. As a last resort, she tried the handle and found to her surprise that the door was open.

"That's odd," She murmured with a puzzled frown, letting herself in. She looked up and shrieked.

"Now, now, that's not very welcoming is it?"

Clara held a hand to her head and took a deep breath to calm herself down, willing her pulse to stop racing. There was the man again, this time sitting on her desk nonchalantly and smiling widely at her as he took a bite out of a ruby red apple. He was _enjoying_ this.

"You'd want to be a tad quieter," The man chided her lightly, the same smug smirk fixed on his face. "The little kiddies might think something's wrong."

"Well something's not right, that's for sure," Clara closed the door behind her and stood in front of him, folding her arms and heaving a sigh. "Go on, then, spit it out- _Not the apple_, your reason for being here in _my_ classroom, acting like you own the place. What are you doing here?"

"Sitting on your desk, eating an apple- But you already _knew that_, silly girl," The man raised his eyebrows in fake ignorance as he took another bite and lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. "An apple a day keeps the doctor away... You should try it. I think _you_ might have a problem."

Clara stiffened at the implication. He couldn't possibly mean the Doctor, _her_ Doctor, could he? She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off before she could begin as the man spoke again.

"Oh look, keys!" The man gave her a lazy, lopsided grin and tossed her a small metal object. Clara caught the small bundle with a gasp, thankful that her reflexes had not chosen that particular moment to fail her. She inhaled sharply as she studied the jumble of rattling silver, realising that it was in fact, her keys. She shook her head slowly in disbelief.

"How did you-"

"Steal your keys? Trust me, I've done much worse. So," He tossed the remains of the apple into the bin in the corner of the room where it landed with a small clang which rang in Clara's ears. "Are you ready for the story?"

"That depends," Clara allowed a small smile to curve her lips upwards, though still remained cautious. She opted to sit down on a desk opposite him, a safe enough distance away and swung her legs as they buzzed with nervous energy. "Are you ready to tell me who you are?"

"But that's no fun," The man whined in an almost childlike demeanour. His face contorted in disdain. "Come on, Clara, don't be ordinary! Why should I tell you who I am, give me a _reason_?"

"Playing games now, are we?" Clara found herself unable to contain a grin, realising with a sense of sudden foreboding that she was probably enjoying talking to this man a bit more than she should. She should be running, running and hoping he didn't catch her. But Clara had never been one for rules.

"I'm always playing a game," The man leaned forward with a gentle hiss, resting his chin on his steepled fingertips and staring at Clara intently. "And I always win. But time's ticking, Clara, I'm getting _bored_ now."

Clara sighed, noting that she probably looked as confused as she felt. The man spoke in a frivolous, sing song voice, giving rise to the assumption that he wasn't taking anything seriously, as if this all really was just a game to him.

"I don't like riddles," She mumbled in acute annoyance, propping her chin up on her loosely closed fist.

"Learn to," The man's tone of voice turned almost threatening and it caused an unpleasant chill to run down Clara's spine. She paused, choosing her next words carefully.

"What can I do to make you tell me who you are?" She murmured, gazing into his deep brown eyes, trying to understand what secrets lay there though she knew it was a futile attempt.

"Now you're asking the right questions," The man who she knew nothing about but could no longer call a stranger pushed himself off the desk and began to pace. He circled Clara slowly, hands swinging casually at his sides as he pondered. He stopped in front of her with a smug smirk and Clara's breath caught in her throat. His eyes really were enthralling, she realised with a start as he observed her, his gaze scrutinizing.

"Tell me something about myself."

"You what?" Clara frowned, squirming uncomfortably at the unexpected question. "But I don't know anything about you, do I?"

"Come _on_, Clara, show me that you're different, show me that you're not like all the others," The man's tone was almost pleading as he looked at her and Clara wondered what the reason for all this really was. What did he want from her? She paused, deep in thought.

"How about you give me some time to think about that little request, eh?" She smiled, hopping off the desk to stand in front of him. "I need to work, and you look like a man who has places to be."

The man strode over to the bookshelf lining the wall behind her desk as she spoke, not looking at her but clearly paying attention. He ran a hand over the thick volumes lightly, his hand coming to a rest and hovering over a large book. He hummed lightly and tapped the binding of the book absentmindedly. He turned back around to face Clara who was watching him with unconcealed fascination. She had never met anyone like him before, and wasn't sure if she should be frightened or intrigued. Maybe a bit of both wouldn't hurt.

"Hmm, not bad," The man pulled a face, head cocked to the side. "Not bad at all. Alright, Miss Oswald, I'll give you," He paused to glance at his watch, a smirk playing around the corner of his mouth. "Two hours, how does that sound? And rules are _you_ have to find _me_ this time."

"I have to find you _and_ give you a piece of information about yourself?" Clara stood, taking a few steps forward and stopping in front of the man. She rocked back and forth on her heels lightly as she thought. "No, that's not fair. If this is a game, we _both_ need to be playing."

"But I already found you," The man replied with a smile, but Clara could tell he was willing to listen to her terms. He liked games, she decided. Well, if that was the case, she'd better play wisely.

"Yeah, but we should make this game more interesting," The man smiled widely at her words, excitement flitting across his features. "You know my name, you know I like stories. Find out something about me you don't know yet..." She paused, thinking intently, racking her brains for something he possibly couldn't guess without knowing her personally. "Right, tell me what my favourite thing in the world is, my most prized possession."

The man raised his eyebrows and gave a slow nod. "Seems fair."

"You have to know by the time I find you, or you don't get that piece of information," Clara grinned teasingly, beginning to enjoy their little game already.

"If you don't tell me the information, you don't get to find out my name," The man grinned back at her wickedly.

"Guess I'll just have to get my thinking cap on then," Clara smirked as the man began to walk towards the door. "Wait!" She called abruptly, stopping him in his tracks.

"How am I supposed to find out where you are with no clues?" She realised she didn't have the faintest idea where he could prance off to.

"I did tell you," The man smirked, absentmindedly tapping the wooden door frame beside him as he spoke. His eyes glittered with mirth at Clara's confused expression. "But did you listen?"

He ended the sentence in a sing song voice and turned to leave the room. Clara shook her head with a grin. That man really was something else.

"See you later, Mystery Man," Clara called after him, and she could've sworn she heard a chuckle from amongst the shrill ringing of the school bell and the bustling students as they responded to the familiar sound.

She flopped down at her desk as her students filed in, trying in vain to understand what the man had meant. Where was she supposed to go looking for him? When had he told her where he'd be? What the bloody hell could she come up with as information about him? She sighed, realising she had to start the class. The two hours passed in a blur, Clara only half paying attention to what she was actually saying, the real mind work going unspoken as she pondered about the man.

She jumped when the bell rang signalling the end of the day, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her as she realised it was time for her meeting with Mister Mysterious. She was nervous, yes, she was slightly frightened, yes, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face at the thought of seeing him again. _What's wrong with a little danger?_ She thought to herself with a grin as she packed up to leave.

The cool wind hit her as soon as she stepped outside, whipping her hair around her face and causing her to catch her breath. She made to walk in the direction of the park then stopped. She needed that information about him, but she still hadn't come up with anything. She clenched her fists and decided to look for him first. Anyway, if she couldn't find him how would she give him that information?

"Where are you hiding?" She whispered with a smile, walking slowly, tentatively in no direction in particular and thinking back to their conversation before. He said that he'd told her... But he definitely hadn't said it in words so it must have been in actions. She thought about the apple, the sitting on her desk, the running his hand along the books... The books!

She gasped and doubled back, running towards the school and hoping to get there before it was closed. Books, it made sense with all this talk about stories. She tried the main door of the building, a wave of relief washing over her as she realised that it was open. The hallway was mostly deserted, the majority of the teachers and students had left for home, something Clara knew she wouldn't be doing for a while. She reached her classroom and went straight to the bookshelf where the man had ran his hand casually over the spines of the dusty books. Clara recalled that his hand had rested lightly on one particular volume. At the time she had thought he was merely tapping it absentmindedly, but now she was almost certain he was leaving her a message.

_"I did tell you. But did you listen?"_

The tapping lightly on the frame of the door as he spoke those meaningful words, the tapping on the book. That had to mean _something_, surely?

She located the right book quickly enough, this one was particularly large and difficult to miss. She plucked it from its place sandwiched snugly between the others and rifled through the pages quickly with a frown.

"What have we got here then?" She pondered aloud, glancing at the cover. She knew all of the books here well but this was one she didn't recognise. It was a book of London's tourist attractions and buildings, she realised, her eyebrows drawing together in frustration. This was nothing special, had she been wrong about the book?

"Or..." She murmured to herself, eyes widening excitedly. "Is he in one of these places?"

She flicked through the book again, straining to see if anything caught her eye which made sense. She groaned audibly, knowing she didn't have much time. Even if she couldn't win this game, she wanted a damn good shot at it.

She huffed and tossed the book onto her desk where it landed with a thud and ran a hand through her hair. What was she going to do? She couldn't make sense of this at all. A small piece of paper fluttered from the desk to her feet, having dropped out of the book. She lunged forward to grasp it, hoping fervently that it was a note or a clue of some kind. She frowned, realising that it was a library stamp which had been attached to the book but had fallen out when she had thrown it. She froze with the piece of paper in her hands, realisation dawning on her. This book was a library book. They never kept library books in the classrooms.

Scanning the paper quickly and finding the name of the library in the top right hand corner, she left the school at a run, carrying the book under her arm.

She was now almost certain that this book had been planted there in the classroom by the man, and it was time to return it. She was aware that it had been more than two hours now, and she didn't want to disappoint. She knew every library in the city well, and this one happened to be one of her favourites. She wondered was that why the mysterious man had picked this location, or was it coincidence? She was beginning to be a disbeliever of mere coincidence at this point.

She couldn't deny that she was enjoying this, this game of theirs. It was giving her a chance to find out something by herself, something she almost never did with the Doctor. Sure, she had saved him multiple times, but that was mostly her echoes. She tried to help him often but he always seemed to know what was going on, was always able to figure out what to do and formulate a plan. Clara often felt slightly inferior, left out of the loop. This time, the mysterious man was treating her as his equal, he was giving her a chance.

She reached the tall, grey building, standing underneath it and staring up at it's many long windows in awe. She began to walk to the door, then paused. Would he be inside? Somehow, she didn't think so. She looked around, but there were no signs of her mysterious friend.

She frowned with a good natured sigh, clutching the book to her chest. She was beginning to feel disappointed, not in the man but in herself. Had she got it all wrong? She reached a hand out to touch the rough stony grey wall lightly, in an action not unlike her friend's when he had ran his hand along the bookshelf, giving her the vital clue as to where he was.

She let out a small "humph" of disappointment, slightly crestfallen that she wouldn't get to see the man again. She _needed_ to know more about him, and he was the most interesting thing to happen to her since she had returned to Earth. She turned away, wondering if she should return when a familiar soft Irish voice sounded from behind her, bringing a smile to her face and causing a feeling of joy to bubble up in her stomach.

"You're late."

**Yay, second chapter done :D I'm gunna start the third straight away before the idea leaves me :P**

**And by the way, thank you for your responses to my question in the last chapter, I totally agree, villains are hot :D**

**I just finished watching The Empty Hearse and my mom squealed at the Sheriarty "almost kiss". I laughed.**

**That's bring another question to my miiiind, what's your favourite Sherlock episode ever and why?**

**I have to say mine is probably the Reichenbach Fall because it's got the most Moriarty in it and it has an amazing plot, but it's also the most painful. DAMMIT GUYS, FAKING SUICIDE AT EACH OTHER? TWO YEARS? NOT COOL.**

**Sooo anyway, what did you think of that chapter? Yay or nay? :) Should I continue?**

**I'm glad I inspired some of you to ship Clariarty ;) I reaaally hope some of you decide to write a fanfic for it cause I need to read some and my stupid lil' story is like the only one! That is not on :P**

**Sooo please review to let me know what you think :D [makes like sherlock and violently plays the violin so you'll review]**

**Reviews are love. Reviews are life.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Helloooo again my amazing readers :D Wow thank you so so much for the reviews, you guys are amazing! I've made some of you ship it, I've finally done something positive with my life :') My work here on Earth is done [beams up the the mothership] [flies away]**

**Sooo here's the next chapter, while I was writing it it started off pretty okay but I think it might be a bit... Er un-okay towards the end. Like not as good. Because I have had literally had no sleep for the past 24 hours and just got back from a spontaneous day trip to Wales (Nope, I'm not from Wales) but I really wanted to post this chapter sooo here it is, I hope it's not too bad :) I think it's probably the best I could do :P**

**Idk, maybe I'm just being paranoid that it's bad :P But nevertheless, don't worry, next chapter will be much better ;;) Enjoy!**

_"You're late."_

Clara spun around instinctively, forgetting to be wary in her abrupt haste. Her eyes needed only to roam for one suspenseful second before she caught sight of her nameless friend leaning casually against the side of the grey building, at the edge of a shadow-enveloped alleyway tucked just out of her sight. His mirthful face bore a small smirk at Clara's pleasantly surprised expression.

"Fashionably," She couldn't contain the sudden grin that strove to break free at having been correct in her guess that this was in fact the place that he would be. It was a small victory, but it was a win all the same.

"Library's closed now," The man drawled in a light tone, craning his neck to observe the tall, dark walls and sauntering past her, hands delved deep into his pockets. He paused, tapped his foot for a moment as if considering something and then moved to sit on one of the stone steps outside the desolate building. "Shame you can't return the book."

"Why should I be the one to return it?" Clara challenged with a teasing smile, approaching him with a small skip in her step that she couldn't seem to help. "You're the one who took it out after all."

"You got that, did you?" His face brightened considerably as he grinned, looking up at her in satisfaction. "I'm impressed."

"See?" Clara winked, handing the book back to him and gesturing to her face with a flourish. "Not just this."

"Well played, Clara Oswald," He replied, taking the book from her and pressing another into her hands, much to her surprise. "An eye for an eye, a book for a book."

"What's this?" Clara questioned in curiosity, turning the book over in her hands so she could see the cover. She sucked in a sharp breath, realising with an uneasy lurch of her stomach that it was 101 Places To See. And it was her exact copy, she'd know it anywhere. She'd owned this book since she was a little girl and it had accumulated various scratch marks and soufflé related smears since. This wasn't just any old copy of 101 Places To See, this was _her _book.

"My move," The man smirked smugly at her shocked expression, her reaction effectively indulging his mirth. Clara shook her head slowly in disbelief, a prickling feeling of fear creeping up on her. How had he gotten a hold of this? How did he _know_?

"My favourite book," She whispered, feeling a chill run through her that she couldn't blame on the icy weather. "My most prized possession. How did you... _How_?"

"How did I know it was your favourite book or how did I get a hold of it?" The man raised his eyebrows and winked. "It's a bit of a conundrum, isn't it, Clara?"

"Right, explain."

Clara daringly sat down beside the man, clutching her book with an iron grasp. He blinked at her in innocent confusion.

"Explain what?"

"Explain- Just everything! Give me answers!" Clara burst out in frustration, glaring down at the book again, not wanting to look into his eyes for fear that she would lose herself in them again. She was wading through troubled waters, that much she knew for certain, but everything else was obscured by fog.

The man hummed chidingly.

"Game's not over."

The words were dangerous, cold, with a hint of a threat about them that chilled Clara to the bone. She took a deep breath. If it was a game he wanted, it was a game he'd get.

"You haven't finished your move," She spoke quietly, finally daring to look at his face. The coldness had left his gaze and his expression was slightly more convivial, that trademark air of nonchalance she had begun to associate with him transforming his sharp features once more. Something she had said or done had encouraged him to open up to her, but she wasn't sure what it was. She decided to make it her duty to find out.

"I know a lot of things, Clara Oswald," Her unnamed friend murmured quietly, staring ahead at the quiet street in front of them. "I know a lot of people who know a lot of things. And I know how people think," He paused to look at her, his gaze so intense that Clara almost forgot to breathe. His tone took on a deadly edge once more, like the blade of a sharpened knife. "I know how people think _I_ think."

Clara swallowed nervously and cleared her throat so her voice wouldn't falter. "That still doesn't fully answer my question."

The man gave a small chuckle and murmured something that sounded suspiciously like _"stubborn"_ under his breath. "Honestly, Clara, a man you've never met before approaches you in the street knowing _exactly_ who you are, steals your keys, speaks in riddles... Do you really think it was that difficult for me to break into your flat and borrow what is so _obviously_ your favourite book and- Dare I assume- _Your most prized possession_?"

"There's nothing obvious about it from where I'm sitting!" Clara spluttered, feeling uncomfortably flustered. The man ducked his head, laughing quietly.

"_Ah_," He gritted his teeth together and squinted in a theatrical grimace, as if her incompetence somehow pained him. "And you were doing so well. My dear Clara, could you at least _try_ to keep up?"

"Could you at least _try_ to shed some light on the subject for me?" Clara snapped back, resisting the urge to punch him.

"Travelling, you like it, love it, I know that. Hardly a coincidence that it's the main theme of that book," He rapped a knuckle against the hard binding of the volume, causing Clara to jump. "The book is at least twenty plus years old, kept in good condition but dog-eared and well read, damp from when you were reading it in the bath- I see you like baking soufflés-"

"Alright, alright, show off," Clara laughed breathlessly at the man's detailed explanation. "And you just decided to break into my flat to find it?"

"Nothing new. You have quite the selection of books, by the way."

"Ever heard of common courtesy?" Clara stared at him wide eyed, her voice an octave higher than she would have preferred as she struggled to process this new information that was coming to light.

"I'm familiar with the term, yes."

"Name," She demanded hoarsely, nudging the man with her elbow playfully but fixing him with a serious stare.

"Have you forgotten our game?" The man raised an eyebrow challengingly. "It's your move."

"The piece of information about you," Clara murmured thoughtfully, clutching her book a fraction more tightly. She still hadn't come up with anything and the man knew it.

"Tick tock, goes the clock..." He sang in his lilting Irish voice, threateningly yet silky soft at the same time, a toxic yet tantalizing combination.

"I don't suppose I can just say that you like stories?" Clara tried hopefully, fully aware that her attempt was futile.

"Nice try. I already told you that."

"You..." Clara trailed off, her eyebrows drawing together as she thought. She was sure she was going to have some serious frown lines after this. She thought back over their past conversations, his mysterious, slightly threatening manner, his love of stories and playing games...

"Are you... Wanted or something?" Clara chanced questioningly. "Like, you're hiding from someone? Someone important like the police or the government?"

"That's if you consider the police and the government _important_," The man snorted, then shook his head with a smile. "Wrong," He sang. "But not a bad try. I'll give you one more guess."

"I thought it was always three guesses," Clara tried cheekily. The man gave a low chuckle.

"Oh _rules_, rules, tedious little inventions," He murmured softly, staring at the sky. "One more guess."

"Okay," Clara muttered to herself, thinking harder. What kind of information was he looking for? She thought about all she knew about him, him stealing her keys, the snide remark that he'd done worse, effortlessly breaking into her flat...

"I think," She chose her next words carefully, sneaking a shy peek at the man's face and clutching her book harder. "I think you could be dangerous. If you wanted to be. But..."

"But?" The man pressed, giving her his full attention now, a small smile playing around his lips.

"I know you won't hurt me," She finished proudly, sounding more confident than she felt at her bold remark. It was a small piece of information, but she was almost certain that it was true, and that was the main rule of the game.

"And why's that?" He asked coldly, fixing her with a hard stare and narrowing his eyes. Clara remained composed, sure in her words. She had already thought this bit through.

"Because you can't tell a story to someone who's dead."

"But you can tell a story to someone's who's burning," The man replied harshly and Clara stiffened, gripping her book so hard her knuckles turned white. But the intimidating glare was gone as soon as it had appeared and the man flashed her a mischievous grin, reminding her again of his mercurial temperament. "But you're right. On both accounts. I am dangerous, but I won't hurt you. At least, it's not top of my 'to-do' list. For now, you're useful to me, you're an asset. It would do you well not to change those terms."

The blatant bluntness and clear simplicity of his words unnerved Clara. The way he had spoken was so matter of fact, but it outline the evident implication well enough; The moment she became dispensable, he would dispose of her.

"So go on then," Clara continued slightly more shakily than she would have liked, regaining her composure as best she could and steering the conversation back to her own advantage. She summoned up every last ounce of her courage and inched closer to her dangerous ally. "Just who exactly are you?"

"Jim Moriarty," He replied without hesitation, just as promised in the rules of the game.

"Jim..." Clara repeated slowly, allowing the name to roll off her tongue gracefully, surprised at how easily he had complied with her wishes.

"Hi," He smiled softly and held out his hand for her to shake. Clara laughed and took it gladly, enjoying the warmth of his strong hand around hers in the cold autumn weather.

Clara looked down at her book, remaining silent for a moment. She hadn't expected his name to be something as normal and non-threatening as Jim. When she looked up again Jim was looking at her carefully as if analysing her, as if wondering if he could trust her.

"I'm ready for the story," She whispered softly, trying not to get lost in his deep brown eyes.

"Excellent," He smiled widely, standing briskly and beginning to walk away at a leisurely pace. Clara frowned and jumped up from her perch on the stone step, clasping her book in her hands and rushing to catch up with him.

"Where are you running off to, Clever Boy?" She grinned, nudging his side as they walked down the quiet street towards the empty city park. It was getting late, Clara noticed, and with the later hour came the colder weather.

"You know a lot about running, don't you?" He murmured, avoiding her question. "You've travelled, seen a lot of... Interesting things."

"What do you mean?" Clara questioned anxiously, unsure what he was referring to. He couldn't possibly know about the Tardis, could he?

"I think you know exactly what I mean," He responded, glancing down at her with a smirk. "There were others before you, you know."

"What are you talking about?" Clara slowed her pace, forcing Jim Moriarty to stop. He spun around in a lazily circle to face her, as if he was playing another of his games.

"I'm talking about a story, the one big story that contains hundreds of smaller stories. But of course they're all important, aren't they? That's what he says, doesn't he? That everyone's important."

"I told you I don't like riddles," Clara and Moriarty were now standing facing each other, the cold wind whipping Clara's hair around her face and making her feel painfully vulnerable.

"I told you to learn to," He replied coldly, his intimidating manner restored in all its glory. The twinkle in his eye shifted into a malicious glint. "Don't you want to hear the story?"

"I'm not so sure anymore," Clara mumbled, wrapping her arms around her torso to shield herself from the cold. She gritted her teeth indignantly. "I don't like feeling as if I'm being threatened."

"You think _this_ is threatening?" Moriarty let out a bark of a laugh, his eyes widening incredulously. "My, my, Clara, you have a lot to learn."

"Look, are you going to tell me what you want with me or not?" Clara demanded, trying not to let her fear show. "Because _I'm_ the one getting bored now. If you want me to keep playing along, you're going to have to start making some bit of sense. I don't even know who you are, not really."

"I knew you were adorably stubborn and _my_, you don't disappoint," Jim shook his head with a slow smile.

"Well it'd be in your best interests to get used to it, Mr Moriarty," Clara arched her brows with just the barest hint of a smile. "If you're hanging around, that is."

"And do you want me to hang around?"

Clara paused, considering her answer. The next words that came out of her mouth could very well land her in a lot of trouble. Serious trouble. She was playing with the dark arts here, intrepidly messing with something that shouldn't be poked and prodded. The truth was she had never met anyone quite like this man before and, though he harboured a vexing tendency to frustrate her and quite frankly scare the hell out of her, she _did_ want him around. She wasn't sure why, wasn't sure what it was about him that drew her in but she wanted to find out. She didn't trust him, not one iota, but he was a mystery to her. And she liked puzzles.

"Maybe," She tried and failed to contain a small grin, enjoying the sight of Jim Moriarty's face lighting up at her words. She turned away from him and took a few steps in the opposite direction.

"Aw, where are you going?" He called in a disappointed tone, but Clara heard no indication of him making any move to follow her.

"Home, it's getting late," She called over her shoulder. Though part of her that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore wanted desperately to stay and talk to him, the fact that she didn't trust him in conjunction with the realisation that he _still _wasn't making any sense made her feel as if the smart decision right now would be to call it a day and leave. And then he addressed that nagging voice in the back of her mind that suspected there could be a lot more to this than she initially thought.

"Don't you want to know the story of the lonely Time Lord? The Doctor?"

Clara froze at his words. She could almost feel Moriarty's eyes on her back, could almost sense the accomplished smirk on his face at finally getting the reaction he wanted. She turned slowly and cocked her head to the side curiously.

"Who are you, really?" She asked quietly. "And I don't just mean your name."

"My, my, you've been away for a long time, Clara," He shook his head and pouted. "Otherwise you'd know all about me. You'd know all about the fall and the consulting criminal."

Clara stiffened at the word criminal. Though she had already assumed that this man was dangerous, she hadn't exactly been hoping for as serious a term as criminal to pin to his forehead.

"Tell me," She whispered slowly. "Tell me what you know about the Doctor."

"I know you're half afraid he won't come back for you," He smirked, dipping his head a little as he took a few steps closer, hands deep in his pockets. "I can see it in your face when I mention his name. That little nagging sensation of fear and dread and _pain_, right here," He tapped his chest, right above his heart. "Because you know you're not the first he's left behind."

Clara opened her mouth with the makings of a hysteric smile of disbelief but closed it again, managing to vocalise nothing more than a small huff of breath. A cold sweat broke out across her palms and she clenched her fists tightly.

"What-"

"Has he told you the tale of the Big Bad Wolf and the Blue Box?" He interrupted her, coming to a halt directly in front of her. "The big bad wolf who broke his hearts. She destroyed everything and nearly destroyed herself, and it was all his fault. Saving her destroyed him, and saving the Earth destroyed them both."

He looked at Clara and she found she couldn't look away, trapped under his intense gaze and entwined in the convoluted web of his nonsensical riddles that held so much meaning she couldn't quite grasp.

"Love," He murmured with a small chuckle, shaking his head mockingly. "What a silly disadvantage it is."

Clara's heart began to beat unnaturally fast for some reason she couldn't explain, and she found she couldn't form any words. She thought in silence for a moment at Jim's words, trying to understand the riddle for herself. The Doctor had never mentioned anything about a wolf, it had to be code for something. Clara had once attempted to sneak a brown, floppy eared puppy onto the Tardis and the Doctor had put a firm ban on animals ever entering the ship after having lost his sonic screwdriver to the mongrel. No, it was definitely code. For who? Moriarty had mentioned that she wasn't the first... The first companion? She had known that of course, but her knowledge of previous friends of the Doctor wasn't that extensive. She made a conscious effort not to ask too much about the Doctor's previous companions. It had always been a touchy subject for the old Time Lord, one she didn't feel as if she had the right to breach. The way she saw it, if he wanted to open up to her about something, he would.

Even so, she couldn't help but feel her curiosity as to the Doctor's past life and prior companions peak, and she wanted to know what this man knew about her Time Lord best friend. And after that, she wanted to know more about _him._ Jim Moriarty himself.

In a brave act that surprised even Clara herself, she took Jim's hand gently and sat on the cold hard ground of the empty pathway beside the desolate park, dragging him down with her. He stiffened immediately at the unexpected form of contact, his eyes widening in shock. His hand automatically formed a fist under her smooth touch and Clara got the impression that he wasn't used to kindness, or gentle human contact. She offered him a soft smile and tugged on his outstretched hand again, until he slowly lowered himself to the ground just in front of her, his hand remaining clenched tightly even after she reluctantly let go.

He brought his knees up and rested his chin atop them, wrapping his arms around his legs. In that moment he reminded Clara of a small child, vulnerable and innocent and Clara realised with a start that she had brought that out in him, she had knocked down that barrier. But almost as soon as it had dropped, the barrier was back in place and Jim's face went blank, returning to the slightly intimidating yet somewhat friendly way it had been before.

Clara sat cross-legged in front of him, close enough to reach out and take his hand, but she didn't have the courage to do so. Instead she waited patiently for him to speak, giving a small nod of encouragement.

"The big bad wolf," Jim mused again, his tone soft and lyrical. "I hope you're not opposed to sad endings. All the big bad wolf wanted to do was save him, but all he wanted to do was save her. The pink and yellow human who had wormed her way into his hearts and stayed there... Much like a disease," He wrinkled his nose and Clara couldn't help but laugh at his reaction to the idea of love. She glanced over his handsome face, trying to make sense of the complex man in front of her. She wondered why he was adamant not to let anyone in, why he considered love some form of weakness.

"The bold blue police box was fond of the little wolf," Jim Moriarty continued his storytelling in a soft, lilting voice which quickly had Clara enthralled. "She shared the secrets of time with her, the secrets of time that were so big and so powerful they threatened to rip the poor little human girl apart, but together they created something bigger, something stronger. The big bad wolf.

"But it wasn't just by chance, oh no, nothing ever just happens by _chance_," The storyteller's eyes widened as he carried on. "The big bad wolf was meant to happen, she was scattered throughout space and time everywhere the Doctor and his little companions went. She followed them, followed them like a trail of breadcrumbs until the big bad wolf turned her power on the big bad robots to save the love of her life. But by saving him, he had to save her, creating new life, new love," He paused, bringing his hands together under his chin and drew his eyebrows together in thought. He smiled lightly at Clara.

"But you know the Doctor's no angel, don't you?" He stared into her eyes so intently that she could summon no words, rendering her unable to do much except merely nod in response. "They were... Separated. The Big Bad Wolf and the Lord of Time torn apart by the Time Lord's own doing. Not very nice, is it? Not all fairy tales have a happy ending."

He gave a small accomplished grin at Clara's awed silence. "They should've made that into a movie," He mused with a wicked smirk. "Explosions, lost love... It would be quite the spectacle."

Clara paused, shivering slightly in the cold. She had known the Doctor had lost friends before, known that they had caused him a great deal of hurt, but she hadn't know that he had been in love, and Jim definitely wasn't talking about River. "So that... That was about one of his past companions?" She whispered softly. "He never told me."

"Of _course_ he didn't," Jim scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Because he hardly ever talks about them, does he? That's the problem, he shies away from the pain. He doesn't realise that you don't need to fear it."

Clara remained silent for a moment, pondering his words, then decided to ask some of her unanswered questions she was so aching to know the answers to.

"How do you know all this?" She prodded, cocking her head to the side in curiosity more than fear. "Why..."

"Because the Doctor wronged me," Jim Moriarty responded in a sudden snarl, startling Clara. He stood abruptly and began pacing slowly, although never straying too far from her. "He took away the final element in my greatest game yet, just before the big finish. He _ruined_ it."

Clara slowly stood as Jim spun around to face her, anger burning in his eyes, though she understood that the fury was not directed at her, but at someone else.

"And I like to know about people who've wronged me," He hissed, drawing closer. "I like to know their weaknesses. And thanks to my notorious ability to make people tell me what I want to know, I tend to get that information."

Clara stiffened suddenly and took a small step backwards.

"Is that why you're doing this, telling me these stories?" She questioned, quiet anger mulling over in her low tone of voice. "Just so you can use me to find out more about the Doctor?"

"No!"

Clara jumped, not expecting the sudden defensive outburst and the fact that Jim seemed to be slightly hurt by the fact that she had even considered this.

"Sorry," He groaned, running a hand down his face and pulling an over exaggerated grimace, almost growling in annoyance at his loss of self-control. "I _have_ the information, I don't _need _anymore. You just happened to prance along at the right time, Clara. Story time."

"So, why are you telling me these stories then?" She asked quietly, unconsciously taking a step closer.

"Because I know you'll listen," He responded flatly, one side of his mouth in a downwards slant in a matter of fact expression.

"So," Clara paused, wondering if she dared ask her next question. She chanced a small smile. "When do I get to hear your story? That's the one I'm most interested in."

"Ah," Jim waved his finger at her as if scolding a small child. "That's not important. Not yet."

"It is to me."

Jim paused, frowning slightly and looking at Clara intently as if trying to understand her. He approached slowly until he was standing directly in front of her, the close proximity causing Clara's heart to thump at a drastically quick pace for some unexplained reason.

"I don't want you to hear my story just yet," He murmured, remaining standing in front of her. Clara chanced looking up into his deep brown eyes and gave a low involuntary gasp at the beauty of them. She blushed furiously, casting her gaze down and clenching her hands into fists at her side to calm her nerves. Why did this man have such an effect on her?

"Why not?"

"Because," Jim reached out a hand to touch Clara's inner wrist lightly, causing an unexpected shiver to run down her spine, and not one that was from the cold or fear. He trailed his fingertips down her wrist slowly, gently, until they reached her small Gallifreyan bracelet. He gave her a lopsided smirk which Clara realised held a hint of sadness and tapped her little metal bracelet lightly. "When you do, I don't think you'll want to see me again."

Clara felt fear at his words and could tell that Moriarty knew it by the way he began to pull away, but Clara steeled her gaze.

"Try me," She whispered, reaching out and grabbing his wrist before he could fully pull away. Jim looked down at her small hand which started to wriggle its way into his grasp until their fingers were intertwined. He stared at his hand which was now holding hers as if it had been someone else who had performed the action, and he was merely a spectator.

His hand remained still within hers, as if he wasn't sure how to respond. Clara squeezed his hand gently and smiled reassuringly. Whatever this man had done, she was not going to condemn him until she knew the full story.

Jim smirked and removed his hand from her hold gently, almost cautiously. He took a few steps backwards and then turned to walk away in the opposite direction. Before Clara could call out in question as to where he was going, he answered a different unspoken question than the one she had been about to voice.

"221B, Baker Street," He called over his shoulder, never slowly his lazy pace as he strode away from her.

"Another riddle?" Clara guessed, raising her voice a little as Jim moved farther away into the distance.

"Not a riddle. Information," Jim responded in a light hearted tone. "My story."

He paused in his tracks and Clara could see him visibly stiffen, though he did not turn around to face her. His hands clenched into fist at his sides but he continued to speak in a friendly enough manner, though Clara didn't fail to notice the chilling undertone.

"Just don't be too hasty. You might not like what you find."

Clara paused, watching his retreating figure as it began to fade into the darkness. She blinked in surprise. She hadn't realised night was falling so quickly.

"Goodnight, Jim," She whispered, pondering his last words to her. She turned to begin the short walk back to her flat, aware that London was dangerous to be wandering alone around on a dark night such as this, but something told her that Jim Moriarty would prevent any harm coming to her, even if he made his presence unknown.

She walked home with a smile on her face and a little more information about her mysterious friend, for some reason feeling safer than before.

**Ayyy that's chapter three up and running ;;) See, I did it, even with my spontaneous trip to Wales (Don't even ask bc idk man, idk)**

**Sooo I hope you enjoy this one :D I'm enjoying writing it so much! Thanks for the reviews and answers to my random questions, I don't have one today unfortunately :P**

**GOD I JUST WANNA CUDDLE MORIARTY! He's such a lovable little pyschopath. I said that to my mom today and she looked at me weird, probably because I referred to a pyschopath who killed a load of people because he was bored as being adorable. But I can't help it. It's true.**

**Anyway, please feel free to leave any constructive criticism you have for me, it'll help me improve :)**

**Reviews make me smile man, come on, make me smile :D Tell me what you think of the chappie and the story so far and if I'm doing the right thing by continuing :) And thanks again for the reviews so far, I can't explain how much they mean to me!**

**[Moriarty voice] Thank you, bless you**


	4. Chapter 4

**Ayy, it's chapter four :D I really loved writing the conversations between Moriarty and Clara in this chappie :D**

**Wow thank you all so so much for the amazing reviews! You guys are so amazing and ily all omg! I would've updated sooner but I was forced to socialise for a few days ugh. What were my parents thinking, allowing me to make friends. I'm like Sherlock and Mycroft, only not smart.**

**So anyway, enjoy this chappie and click on that button down there, ya see it? Yup, the one that says REVIEW! Because I really want you to ;) Review, that is. Anways, enjoy!**

Clara's sleep that night was far from restful, and she had the common misfortune of someone who had just endured a night of incessant tossing and turning to awake groggy and more hopelessly confused than ever. She immediately put the kettle on as soon as she stumbled her way into the kitchen, knowing that a cup of coffee was the only thing right now that had any chance of guiding her mind through its foggy sleep-induced haze.

She had woken on time for once and was in no rush to get to work as she sipped her coffee delicately, pondering Jim Moriarty once more, the man she had spent most of last night thinking about instead of sleeping. She clutched her hands tighter around her hot beverage, his parting words from last night ringing in her ears.

_"You might not like what you find."_

She needed to find out who exactly he was. _Criminal._ The word kept bouncing around in her head, the cogs in her brain whirring as she turned over and over in her mind the information she knew about him, straining to fit the intricate pieces together in a way that would make sense. She didn't have enough information to finish the puzzle, she needed answers. 221B, Baker Street. That was where she needed to go.

Going about her morning routine of getting ready for work at a more leisurely pace than she usually had the privilege of undertaking, she hatched a solid plan to pay a visit to 221B as soon as the school day ended. A quick glance at the clock told her she was on the verge of running late again, all this overthinking was doing her punctuality no good.

"A quick trip in the Tardis to make sure I'm on time wouldn't go amiss," She grumbled wryly, making a mental note to stop talking to herself out loud. _'You know talking to yourself is considered the first sign of madness. Of course, I'm not an expert on the subject.'_

Clara bit her lip to contain a rueful smile at her first memory of Jim as she rushed down the flights of stairs from her flat. The man certainly was something, and she found she quite liked him, though she knew she probably shouldn't. A nagging voice in the back of her head which she couldn't quite silence told her that he was dangerous company, but she found herself looking forward to their next meeting. _Priorities, Clara. _She was getting ahead of herself. Before she started getting any mad ideas, she needed to get to 221B and find out Jim Moriarty's story.

She rushed out onto the street and as a last minute decision, hailed a cab to take her to the school. She cursed inwardly as the first she saw whizzed past her. She wasn't going to risk being late again. She breathed a sigh of relief as the next cab slowed to a halt alongside her and clambered in gratefully.

"Coal Hill School please," She uttered breathlessly, slamming the door closed behind her.

"School? Hmmm, boring," The cabbie responded cheerfully in a sing song voice she knew all too well. "Why don't we take a detour?"

"Jim!" Clara yelped in shock but was soon unable to hide her grin at his sudden appearance. "What are you doing here? Why are you impersonating a cab driver?!"

"Oh you know, it's the day job for a consulting criminal," Jim replied dryly in a sarcastic tone. He cleared his throat almost sheepishly. "I... Borrowed it. Good way to travel unnoticed, isn't it?"

He flashed a grin in the review mirror. Clara gave a small chuckle, though his words seemed to imprint themselves into her brain in nauseating clarity. _Consulting criminal?_

"Consulting criminal?" Clara parroted back, quirking an eyebrow and trying to cover up the nervousness in her voice at the title. "Sounds like an interesting job."

"Want to find out how interesting it really is?" Jim glanced at her coyly, flashing a mischievous grin.

It was an exciting proposition, she had to admit. Clara chucked her bag into the front of the car beside Jim and clambered into the passenger seat beside him as he slowed down due to traffic. He raised an eyebrow at her daring move, but didn't comment. Clara grinned, putting on her seatbelt. She had no idea if Jim was a good driver or not, but wasn't going to bet that he was the best.

"Well, free cab ride, lucky me," She rolled back her shoulders with a satisfied smile as she settled into the comfy seat. "Where have you been all my life?"

"Waiting for you, obviously," Jim quipped back with a grin, and Clara laughed, forgetting for a moment that she was sitting beside quite possibly the most dangerous man in Britain. She narrowed her eyes at him suddenly, scrutinizing.

"You picked me up for a reason."

"Clever girl."

"Why?" Clara demanded playfully, curious as to his motives. Jim Moriarty shrugged.

"I was bored. I think we should do something illegal."

Clara blinked in surprise at his nonchalant tone.

"Wha- Something _illegal_?"

"Yes, I think that's what I said."

"I'm sorry did you say _'we'_?"

"Your sense of hearing really is impeccable, Clara," Jim drawled, tapping the steering wheel with his nimble fingers. "I hope your seatbelt is fastened."

A small shriek of surprise was drawn from Clara's mouth as Jim suddenly pressed his foot down on the accelerator and thrust the wheel to the left, dodging out through the mostly stagnant traffic and driving recklessly through the streets of London. In _precisely_ the exact opposite direction of the school.

"Jim!" Clara yelled, clutching the edges of her seat in fear, her jaw clenched tightly. "Slow down! I'd like to get to our destination in one piece!"

His terrible driving reminded her of a journey in the Tardis as it was being pulled off course. Only she realised that this was a lot more dangerous, to herself and Jim _and_ to the unfortunate pedestrians. Surprisingly, even though his driving was completely diabolical, it seemed to make sense out of the chaos, and Jim seemed to know what he was doing.

"The story of the fiery companion who forgot," Jim ignored Clara's request completely with a small smirk. "Heard of that one? It's another tale I have the... Privilege of knowing."

"Nope, haven't heard that one," Clara squeaked, casting Jim a wide eyed stare as he narrowly avoided crashing into a telephone pole. "Care to enlighten me? With a bit less speed on the wheels?!"

"Oh, Clara," Jim tutted mockingly. "Don't be ordinary. Why drive a car if you're not going to work it to its full potential?"

"If we die, I'm going to kill you," Clara ground out as Jim laughed at her joking threat.

"She was a fiery companion, inside and out," He continued brightly as if he wasn't speeding on a busy London footpath. "From her hair to her sharp, witty tongue. That's why he liked her, I suppose. She wasn't as ordinary as most, wasn't as boring. The way he saw it, anyway."

Clara nodded slowly, trying to ignore the jolt of her heart every time Moriarty turned the wheel and skidded round another bend just in time.

"She saw so much, did so much," Jim continued with a slight shake of his head. "But she became too great. In return for her life she became the Doctor Donna, she saved the world. But the story didn't end happily, oh no. It hardly ever does, with the Doctor."

Clara racked her brains, trying to remember if she recognised the name, but no memories resurfaced. She tried to concentrate on Jim Moriarty's soft yet intimidating voice as he told the story instead of fearing for her life at his careless driving skills.

"He made her forget," Jim stated bluntly, staring directly ahead at the winding London streets in front of them. "After all she did, all she saw, she would either have to die or forge- Oops!"

Clara gave a startled scream as Jim swerved at the last minute, dangerously close to hitting a wall. He gave a loud bark of a laugh and Clara practically growled.

"So, she forgot," He ended the short tale abruptly and brought the car to a skidding halt which would've sent Clara flying forwards had she not been wearing her seatbelt. She remained silent for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest after the terrifying ordeal that was driving shotgun in a car with Jim Moriarty.

"He- He never mentioned a Donna," She murmured breathlessly, straining to control her ragged breathing. "Now that I think of it, he doesn't really mention his past companions much at all."

"Story's over, let's crack on then, shall we?" Moriarty flashed Clara a mischievous grin and stepped out of the car. Clara exited the vehicle and took in their new surroundings. Her heart sank with sneaking suspicion as she realised that they were outside London's main bank.

"Jim," She began warily, quickening her pace to match his longer strides as he stalked towards the looming building. "You're not thinking what I think you're thinking, are you?"

"That depends entirely on what you're thinking, Clara," Jim smirked, reaching the tall double doors of the bank.

"I'm thinking back to when you said 'let's do something illegal'," Clara replied cautiously, her heart beginning to hammer in her chest.

"Just a bit of fun," Jim grinned in a slightly sinister fashion and ducked inside the building, leaving Clara with no choice but to follow.

The vast, circular room was full of bustling people pushing to form orderly queues, the low hum of conversation filling her ears as she walked further in. She gulped at the amount of security guards manning the place and wondered, not for the first time, if Moriarty really was absolutely insane.

"Now, the main thing we have to do here is get everyone out of the way," Jim's voice sounded suddenly in Clara's ear in a hushed whisper, making her jump. He grabbed her hand and led her to a more secluded part of the room.

"Take this."

Clara stared at the object Jim had just pressed into her hands with a frown.

"What's this?" She hissed in confusion, holding it up in front of her like it was something new to her, though as she studied it she unfortunately knew exactly what it was. The question she really should have asked was _why._

"A gas mask," Jim scowled at her, taking her wrist gently but firmly and pulling it down so the mask was no longer in clear sight of everyone in the spacious room.

"What for?" Clara whispered hurriedly, casting her eyes around for suspicious guards.

"Oh keep up, Clara. Because of the _gas_," Was the muffled reply as Jim Moriarty stuffed his own gas mask onto his face. Clara's mind went blank and she rapidly did the same, not sure what else to do.

"What gas?" She retorted, her voice obscured by the barrier now covering her visage.

"This gas," Moriarty replied in a similar mumble, pointing lazily to the air around them. Clara whipped around the see multiple suspicious guards beginning to make their way towards them but they stopped in their tracks and began a fit of coughing. Clara watched in horror as everyone around them collapsed to the ground, lying motionless on the floor.

The next thing Clara registered through her shock was Jim Moriarty's cool hand as it slipped into hers and guided her across the room, behind the desks and into one of the doors that was clearly labelled _"Staff Only"_.

As soon as the door was firmly shut behind them, Jim removed his gas mask with a loud laugh, a slightly manic look in his eyes.

"It's alright to breathe, Clara," He ran his hand through his dark hair with a grin. "The gas is slow moving and it was only a small burst, it shouldn't reach us in here."

"What the _hell_ was all that about?" Clara burst out once she had ripped off her own gas mask, staring at Jim in shock. Panic welled up inside her chest.

"Hang on," Jim held up a finger to silence her, a look of concentration on his face. Clara's eyes widened in dread as she realised he was listening for the footsteps that were coming rapidly towards them, but Jim didn't look too perturbed. A man, clearly oblivious to what was going on outside opened a side door to the small room and entered. Shock registered on his face for a split second before Moriarty stepped up to him casually and sprayed a spurt of what Clara imagined to be the same gas only more concentrated directly into his face, causing him to collapse in a heap on the floor instantaneously. Clara guessed that he was the one who was supposed to be manning the computer and watching the multiple screens in the small room, seemingly having abandoned his post momentarily. He had definitely come back at the wrong moment.

Jim turned back to Clara with an expectant look on his seemingly innocent face.

"Sorry," He smiled brightly. "You were saying?"

"I- I," Clara spluttered. She was never usually lost for words, but she seemed to keep finding herself tongue tied in Jim Moriarty's presence. His antics never failed to surprise her. "What- Did you kill all those people?!"

"Why, would you be appalled if I did?" Moriarty smirked, leaning back against the nearest desk as he watched Clara's reaction with amusement.

"Well, no- Wait yes- Wait what?!"

Jim Moriarty laughed at her incredulous exclamation. Clara frowned and crossed her arms across her chest. He was finding the whole thing absolutely hilarious!

"Don't you worry your pretty little head," Jim smirked. "Of course I didn't kill them. That wouldn't do for a first date now, would it?"

Clara blinked in shock then felt the corners of her lips beginning to curve upwards in a little smile against her best wishes.

"This is a date then?" She couldn't help but grin cheekily, her stomach fluttering at his words despite the situation.

"If you want it to be," Jim winked, turning away and facing the nearest sleek shiny computer. "Come along now, Clara, this is where you make yourself useful."

"And this is where you tell me how those people aren't dead," Clara retorted, still feeling slightly suspicious. "Cause they look _pretty_ dead to me."

"Unconscious," Jim paused to look at Clara then sighed exasperatedly, realising that she wouldn't help until he assured her that they were unharmed. "I already had nine gas taps installed around the main room, I activated them when we both had our masks on, and I turned them off again. The gas is slow moving, very concentrated, it causes the victim to lose consciousness for approximately thirty minutes so we've got to get moving. Here," He motioned to the computer screen in front of him.

Clara paused, then decided to trust his explanation, even if she didn't particularly like it. She sat down in front of the screen and glanced at the compilation of numbers dancing across it in strange sequences.

"What's all this?" She questioned warily, casting a glance up at Jim. She didn't know what he expected _her_ to do with this jumble of information. She was no computer genius by any means. In fact, it was a rare occurrence when she was simply able to connect to wifi. God knows she had had a few bad experiences with it.

"Our ticket to opening the vaults," Jim responded with an easy grin, turning towards the side door that the unfortunate man lying unconscious on the floor had previously come out of.

"You're going to rob a bank?" Clara squealed, realising that she should have expected this but still not wanting to believe it.

"No, I just wanted to break in, render the majority of the staff unconscious, have a nice chat with the owner and leave. Of course we're going to rob the bank! What else would you do in a bank?!"

"Oh, I don't know, withdraw some money from your own account under legal terms?!" Clara spluttered, gaping at Jim's nonchalant manner in disapproval. "Wait- You said _we're_ going to rob the bank?! You _honestly_ think I'm going to help you with this? Oh, I don't think so, Mister Consulting Criminal!"

"_Clara_, don't back out on me now," Jim rolled his eyes with a pout. "Come on, it's harmless! Fifteen minutes and counting."

"But-"

"Three five five two," Jim flashed her another smile which made her breath catch in her throat as he disappeared through the door. "The codes for the main vault. Look at the cameras, I'll let you know when to tap them in."

"This is wrong, this is wrong, this is _so_ wrong," Clara muttered, shaking her head with a groan as she cast her gaze back to the screen, trying to ignore the fact that there was a man lying unconscious on the ground beside her. She didn't want to rob a bank! But she knew she couldn't back out now, that would leave Jim in a dangerous position and she couldn't let that happen. She groaned again, looking to the security cameras on the wall beside her. Multiple screens hung side by side and she quickly located the black and white picture that housed Moriarty's form.

She watched him glide effortlessly down the corridors, gas mask on as people dropped to the ground around him left right and centre. She shook her head in disbelief. It's was so brilliantly evil. She watched him slip from screen to screen as he moved to and from each area of the bank. Her heart sunk when she realised where he was going.

"He's not going to... Oh my God," Clara breathed, leaning forward to see the screen more clearly. Jim Moriarty was making his way towards the biggest, most secure vault in the bank, the vault which housed more money than Clara could even begin to imagine.

She watched as he removed his gas mask, seemingly having reached an area where he hadn't installed any gas taps. Two guards stood with their backs to the main vault and they stirred when Jim stalked towards them. She winced as he issued a quick blow to the back of one guards' head and used the toxic gas from the small can to induce the other into a temporary coma-like state, successfully gaining access to the vault. He looked up at the camera, as if he was staring directly at Clara and winked with a grin.

Clara shook her head, a slow smile creeping across her face. He really was mad, but he was brilliant. She had never seen daylight robbery being done so efficiently.

She spun around to face the computer, biting her lip as she concentrated. At first the jumble of numbers on the screen made no sense to her, but she soon realised that Moriarty had subtly explained an easy way of working out the code for the vault he required access to.

"Three five five two," She murmured, finding the code which corresponded to each number and readying herself to use them to gain access to the vault.

She clicked on the tab, and clicked again to key in the password. She typed in the letters in a hurry, took a deep breath and entered the key. She gasped as she saw the vault opening on the screen, unable to believe that she had just helped a notorious criminal break into a bank.

She chewed her nails in nervous agitation as she waited for Jim, watching his every move on the cameras as he collected the money. There didn't seem to be much, she realised, as he threw the cash carelessly into a small bag, but she knew that the notes must each be worth more than she could imagine. Her breathing became rapid as she realised they probably didn't have much time left until the workers outside began to wake up and sense that something was wrong, but Jim didn't seem to be in any hurry.

She frowned and squinted at the small screen as Jim retrieved what looked to be a black marker from his pocket and proceeded to write on the shiny metal wall of the vault.

"Miss me?" Clara read the words aloud which he wrote on the wall in big bold letters with a smiley face drawn after it. It made no sense to her, and she made a mental note to question him about it later. Once she was done giving out to him for putting her through this, of course.

She tensed as he made his way back but he didn't run into anyone as they were all bloody unconscious, although she knew that once they woke it wouldn't take them long to figure out that the main, most secure vault in Britain had been broken into.

She felt a huge wave of relief wash over her as he burst into the room with a lively grin. He rushed to the computer, removed a chip from the hard drive and pocketed it without explanation, though Clara knew from the way the screens along the wall immediately went blank that it was the security camera history. He turned to Clara and smirked, taking her hand.

"Run."

Clara was led by the depraved psychopath through a different side door which she guessed must be an alternative way out, as leaving the way they came would attract too much attention. She almost had no time to enjoy the feeling of her hand in Jim's as they burst through a fire exit and ended up in the car park where they had first started.

"Oops, looks like they've realised the game is afoot," Moriarty grinned at the distant wailing of sirens, releasing Clara's hand and walking towards the car at a leisurely pace, unperturbed. Clara didn't reply but walked on ahead more quickly, eager to get to the car. She slipped inside quickly, unable to shake off the feeling of guilt, though it was at the moment well masked by a feeling of exhilaration at not getting caught. But she knew that she did _not_ want to make a habit of this.

Jim drove just as recklessly as before, and Clara remembered to fasten her seatbelt right away.

"You're mad."

"But you had fun though."

"That's not the point-"

"That's _always_ the point," Jim cast a sideways glance at her and smirked. "What's the problem? Everything went according to plan."

"That's exactly the problem!" Clara snapped.

"But we made a great team."

"Um, _no_ we didn't! Money was stolen, people were knocked unconscious!"

"All the result of a job well done," Jim replied brightly, taking another sharp turn. Clara inhaled sharply at the swerve.

"Next date, can we not do something illegal?" She voiced shakily as Jim focused on the road, the bag of money lying discarded on the floor beside him.

"But where's the fun in that?" He smirked again, clearly elated. "Hang on, we have to make a stop."

Clara followed him out of the car which he parked rather untidily on the footpath, quickening her pace so that they were walking side by side along the bridge over the Thames.

Jim stopped at the centre of the bridge, taking the small chip full of security data from his pocket and studying it for a moment, twirling it around in his slender fingers.

"I suppose they'll be wanting this back," He mumbled with a light expression on his face. "Oh well."

He finished the sentence in a sing song tone and tossed the chip over the edge of the bridge where it was swallowed instantly by the large body of water below.

Clara stared, watching it fall in astonishment. She looked to Jim and gave a light, disbelieving laugh. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and grinned.

"You really are psychotic, aren't you?" She choked out, half a smile on her face.

"You're just getting that now, or did it really take you that long to finally say it out loud?"

Clara laughed and punched his arm lightly, much to his surprise.

"Alright, Mister, drive me to my apartment," She ordered, taking his hand and leading him back to the car. "We have a _lot_ to talk about."

Jim chuckled lightly but obliged willingly, and unsurprisingly found his way to Clara's flat easily enough.

"I suppose you've been through all this before," Clara remarked as they ascended the many flights of stairs to Clara's apartment.

"Well, it's more fun with you here," Jim replied with a grin, causing Clara to laugh.

"Yeah, you're actually invited into my house this time."

She unlocked the door, an action that was quite possibly unnecessary with Jim around, considering his aptitude for breaking into places and stepped inside. She wandered down the hall with Jim Moriarty in tow, wondering for a moment why she was allowing a criminal psychopath into her flat, but then realising she didn't care.

Jim flicked the kettle on and walked casually into the living room, seating himself into one of the armchairs with a lazy smile.

Clara sneaked a glance at him and couldn't deny that he looked good, but quickly banished that thought and set about making tea for two. She couldn't be having thoughts like this, he was a _criminal._ She realised that she still didn't know that much about him, though there felt like there was nothing else to know. But she hadn't visited 221B yet, and there was evidently more to be learned there. She wondered if this spontaneous bank robbery was a ply to put her off going to 221B for a little bit longer. He had said that she wouldn't want to be around him after she knew his story, but something told her she probably wouldn't be able to keep away, even if she wanted to. And that scared her.

She put the tea on the table in front of the silent Jim Moriarty, who was currently sitting hunched over with his chin rested on his steepled fingertips, seemingly lost in thought. The clatter of the cup on the table broke him out of his reverie and he looked up at Clara, offering her a small smile.

"Thanks."

Clara smiled in return and seated herself across from him. Jim turned the cup around so that he could grasp the handle with his left hand before bringing the cup it to his lips.

"Left handed," Clara uttered before she could stop herself, noticing with a start the small fact about the mysterious man. She felt proud that she had caught that small, seemingly insignificant action, that she had found out another fact about Moriarty, even if it was trivial.

"Sorry?" Jim paused in acute surprise, stalling the cup in his hands just before it reached his mouth.

"You're left handed," Clara repeated to clarify. "You turned the cup around so you could pick it up with your left hand."

"Very observant, Clara Oswald," Jim raised his eyebrows and smiled. "I'm impressed."

"I may not know your story, but at least I know what hand you write with," Clara grinned, sipping her own tea.

"Indeed."

"So," Clara blew on her tea softly. "We robbed a bank."

"We did."

"_Why_?"

"Like I said, I was bored," Jim shrugged, leaning back in his chair with his tea grasped between his two hands.

"Jim," Clara gaped at the man. "People don't just go _'Oh, I'm bored today. Hm, I think I'll go rob a bank'!"_

"_No_," Jim leaned forward, taking a small sip of his tea and cocking his head to the side thoughtfully. "I said 'Oh, I'm bored today. Hm, I think I'll go rob a bank _with Clara_'."

"Why me?" Clara couldn't hold back a small smile at his words. "Don't lie to me. I've seen what you can do, I know you could've easily robbed that bank without my help."

"Admit it, you had fun," Jim grinned cheekily.

"No."

Admit it."

"_No._"

"_Liar_," Jim sang smugly.

"Alright fine, maybe a bit," Clara sighed with a small smirk. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't wrong. It was wrong. It was _really_ wrong. God, I can't believe we actually did it!"

Jim shrugged innocently and sipped his tea contentedly. Clara's eyes strayed to a bag at his feet and her mouth dropped open.

"Jim, you did _not_ bring the stolen money in here!"

Jim cast his gaze down to the small bag lazily. "Oh, that. I didn't know what to do with it. I don't want it. Do you want it?"

"No!" Clara yelped in a panic. "It's stolen! You honestly don't know what to do with it? You just took it for fun?"

"I don't need it," Jim replied simply, frowning slightly as if perplexed by her inability to understand.

"Well, I know what you're going to do with it," Clara fixed him with a stern glare. "You're going to return it."

Jim choked on his tea when her demand reached his ears. "You serious?"

"Completely serious," Clara replied, not about to let him change her mind. "You're going to return all of it."

Jim paused and fixed her with a calculating stare, his eyes dancing with amusement after his previous shock.

"You're full of surprises, Clara Oswald."

"Just doing what's right," She shrugged with a smile.

"Interesting."

"What is?"

"You are."

"Oh?" Clara grinned, wrapping her fingers around her tea cup and leaning forward slightly. "How? Have you not ever associated with someone who likes to do the right thing?"

"It's the fact that this particular person is trying to make _me_ do the right thing is what's interesting," Jim raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You know I'm dangerous, yet you're not scared. You invited me into your home knowing that I'm apparently a psychopath. Your words, not mine, just to be clear."

"Maybe I'm just mad," Clara laughed. "Or maybe it's because you're interesting too."

"Maybe it's a bit of both."

"Maybe," Clara chuckled. "Lethal combination, really. I'm still not sure what you are. You're still a mystery."

"Got any theories?" Jim smirked, leaning closer.

"Is there a word for total screaming genius that's psychotic and just a tiny bit sexy?"

"I already told you my name's Jim," He grinned with a wink, placing his tea back on the table in front of him and standing up.

"Oi, where are you off to?" Clara's laugh faded away and was replaced by disappointment at the thought of him leaving.

"Places to be," Jim smiled, picking up the money and walking towards the door.

"I'll see you again soon though, yeah?" Clara asked hopefully, eyeing the bag and hoping that he'd take her advice.

"I did say I was sticking around," He answered with a smirk.

"And why do you stick around then, eh?" Clara leaned against the wall in front of him. "What's so great about me that keeps you coming back?"

"You're complex, Clara Oswald," Jim replied simply. "Like a riddle. I like riddles."

Clara's eyebrows knitted together as she considered his words. She wasn't sure if it was a compliment, but it was definitely a great deal better than being considered boring by him.

"Wait!" She took a step forward as Jim put his hand on the door handle. He turned towards her and quirked an eyebrow.

"In the vault, you wrote 'Miss me?'," She began curiously. "What did you mean?"

"A message for an old friend," Jim Moriarty replied, a threatening undertone to his voice though his face remained devoid of much negative emotion. "I'd best be off. You'll be hearing from me, Clara."

"I look forward to it, Jim," Clara smirked as Jim left the apartment. She knew what she had to do next. She knew what her top priority was.

She had to go to 221B, Baker Street.

**Hey hey heeeeey so they robbed a frickin' bank whooo :D I mean bad, that was a bad thing to do, don't try that at home kids! :S xD**

**God this was fun to write but it's like four in the morning so I hope it was up to standards. Idk man, I think I write better late at night. Sleep is for the weeeak.**

**Hey, another question thingy.**

**What's the worst fictional death that you're still not over?**

**I'd say Moriarty, but we don't know if he's dead yet, and he's hella not dead in my frickin' fanfic. I'd say Loki, but I don't think he's dead either. GODDAMMIT DOES ANYONE REALLY STAY DEAD IN FICTIONAL LAND?**

**Dobby. Okay Dobby. Now that was just cruel.**

**Sooo anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I really hope you'll keep reading :D Reviews spur me on guys, they motivate me to write and it makes me smile to see them soooo THE MORE THE MERRIER REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW :D**

**If you want to. I won't force you. Don't worry ;;)**

**But I would loveeee if you did review ;;) Thank you! :D**


	5. Chapter 5

**Heeey guys I'm back again :D Thank you so much for all the reviews ayy I'm so glad I made you ship it :D That last chapter was pretty fun to write but I enjoyed this one too :D**

**Just to clarify, this takes place around the time of His Last Vow so John and Sherlock don't know that Moriarty is still alive yet, he's gunna make that shiz public soon ;;) And for Clara I guess it's whatever time, but it's still the Eleventh Doctor :P**

**Sooo wow it took me like all day to write this, so I hope it's good! Enjoyyy and reviewww to let me know what you think ;;)**

* * *

Clara felt guilty. She was beginning to feel guilty a lot recently, come to think of it. At least this time, she wasn't doing something illegal.

She was fully aware that she was going to lose her job at some point if she kept this up, and focusing on her profession more was precisely the reason she had decided to stay here on Earth for a while in the first place, but that didn't stop her from phoning in sick that morning. She shook the feeling of guilt away, knowing that this was necessary as she left the flat and walked out into London's streets. She hailed a cab, pleased when it came to a halt beside her although disappointed when she saw that the cabbie wasn't her psychotic friend. She knew it wouldn't be him of course, but that didn't mean she didn't miss being around him.

"221B, Baker Street, please," She smiled at the back of the head who nodded in understanding and began to drive through the busy London streets. His driving was a lot safer and more legal than Jim's had been, but she found the journey was lacking a certain excitement. She checked her phone nervously for the time, hoping it wasn't too early in the day to meet with the residents in 221B. She was sure they wouldn't mind, once she explained why she was there.

"Here you are, miss," The cabbie drawled in a thick Cockney accent and Clara thanked him hurriedly, paying her fare and exiting the cab in a rush. She found herself outside a dainty little café called Speedy's, and had to admit she wouldn't mind going for a coffee inside the quaint little shop. Beside the café was a large black door with 221B emblazoned upon it in thick gold writing. Clara felt her breathing become rapid as she craned her neck up to see the flat above, a sudden feeling of nervousness hitting her. A small fluttering of the blinds in the window above let her know that her presence had been noticed. There was no turning back now.

She stalked up to the door and knocked bravely, wondering what secrets would lie inside these walls. She jumped a little when the door swung open moments later to reveal a kindly old lady with a friendly smile.

"Hello, dear," She smiled then leaned forward slightly with a knowing look and continued in a hushed whisper of understanding. "Are you a client too?"

"Um," Clara frowned at the strange choice of words. "A- A client?"

"No, Mrs Hudson, she's not a client."

Clara and the old woman who had been identified as Mrs Hudson looked up to the source of the deep baritone voice. It belonged to a man who was standing at the top of the stairs and was staring down at Clara shrewdly. He was wearing a dressing gown and his mop of curly black hair was slightly disheveled. Clara frowned and wondered what she had gotten herself into.

"She hasn't come here for her own problems," The man continued blandly. "It's something more serious than that and hopefully more interesting. You look promising, come on up, Miss...?"

"Oswald," Clara replied, glancing towards Mrs Hudson politely as way of introduction. "Clara Oswald."

The man didn't reply and disappeared into the flat above. Mrs Hudson patted her gently on the back.

"You go on up, dear," She smiled kindly. "I'll make some tea. I'm just the landlady, mind, not the housekeeper, though they don't always remember that."

"Thanks," Clara returned the smile genuinely, comforted by Mrs Hudson's kindness. She reminded her a lot of her gran.

"And don't worry if he's a bit," Mrs Hudson stalled as if trying to find the right descriptive word, scrunching her nose up and waving her hands around. "You know. He can be like that at times."

Clara nodded though she wasn't sure what the woman was talking about and climbed the stairs to where the man was surely waiting for her. She pushed the slightly ajar door open wide and stepped into the flat. Her first impression of it was that it was quite untidy and her eyes widened in shock at the sight of the multiple test tubes and bunsen burners on the kitchen table. She blinked a few times as she walked fully into the flat, hoping that they weren't eyeballs that she suspected she saw bobbing about in that transparent glass.

"Well come on then, I haven't got all day," The man plopped himself down in an armchair and gestured to another seat with an expression of extreme boredom on his features.

"Haven't got all day? Sherlock, you have nothing on, Lestrade hasn't called with a case- Except for that one you so _politely _declined and you're ignoring everything on your website."

Clara suddenly became aware of another's presence in the room as she remained standing nervously. The man was sightly older than the first, with greying blond hair that was spiked up in all directions due to his previous shower. He was sitting in an armchair across from Sherlock and was reading the newspaper half heartedly. He glanced up at Clara and offered her a quick smile.

"Don't mind him," He shot Sherlock a warning glare with was met with a theatrical rolling of the eyes. "He's always like that. Just sit down there, it's where all the clients sit."

"Client?" Clara stopped in her tracks, unwilling to sit down in the chair until she knew a bit more about these people. "Why does everyone keep calling me a client?"

"You're not here with a case for Sherlock?"

"No of course she's not, John," Sherlock snapped, leaning forward and studying Clara intently. "She doesn't even know why she's here herself, not fully. In fact she doesn't even know about us."

"Sorry," Clara grimaced, finally sitting down in the chair. "It's a bit of a long story."

"Do you seriously not know who he is?" John butted in incredulously, allowing his gaze to stray from his newspaper and jabbing a thumb at Sherlock. He let out a laugh of disbelief as Clara shook her head. "Christ, where have you been living for the past few years? This is Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, as he likes to call himself. Consulting prat, I prefer sometimes."

Consulting detective. Clara froze at the words, her mind straying back to the consulting criminal.

"Yes, and this is John Watson my _oh so helpful _blogger," Sherlock mocked John's tone impatiently with an air of haughty sarcasm. "Are we done with the boring formalities? I want to know why a London schoolteacher with a habit of being late who has just returned home after a lot of travelling dossed off work today to visit a detective she doesn't even know about. Who told you to come here?"

Clara blinked and gaped at the man. "How the _hell_ do you know all that?!"

John muttered the words "show off" under his breath as Sherlock's expression remained neutral, completely ignoring his blogger.

"It's not important," Sherlock waved his hand at her nonchalantly but there was a small spark of mirth in his eyes. "But since you asked, it's obvious that you're a schoolteacher by the time you got up out of routine and the pencil marks on your sleeve. You're usually late but you made sure to get up on time today and left in a hurry, you need to talk to us about something urgent. Someone told you to come here, you didn't know about us, wouldn't know where to find us. You're not an idiot, you just haven't been around for a while, travelling is my assumption as you wouldn't have time for such news when you're travelling."

"Sherlock Holmes, of course!" Clara snapped her fingers, the name suddenly coming back to her. Sure, she hadn't been paying attention to smaller Earth news in a while but she could vaguely remember the name. He was a detective with amazing skills of deduction who could apparently tell someone's profession from a stain on their tie or the way they tie their shoelaces. "I've heard of you. You're right, you're right about everything."

"So talk," Sherlock Holmes leaned forwards, resting his chin on his hands and analysing her, making Clara feel suddenly self conscious.

"What," She took a deep breath, almost unsure as to how to begin. "What do you know about Jim Moriarty?"

"What?!" John slapped down his newspaper and stared at her, mouth agape as Sherlock stiffened visibly. Clara wriggled uncomfortably under their gazes at the unexpected effect her words had had on them.

"Go on," Sherlock held up a hand to silence John and remained staring at Clara.

"I... I was told I'd get answers about him here," She straightened her back, steeling her tone. "That you'd know about him, his story."

"Stories, always the stories," Sherlock mumbled as John looked about to explode.

"Sherlock, I told you!" He raised his voice slightly, startling Mrs Hudson as she came into the room with a tray and three small teacups.

"I brought you some tea-"

"Not now, Mrs Hudson!" Sherlock yelled, standing up and beginning to pace as the little old lady squeaked in fright and scurried downstairs, leaving the tea on the table in front of them. Clara didn't feel much like drinking it now.

"Sherlock, this," John raised his eyebrows in earnest, jabbing the front of the newspaper aggitatedly. "_This_ is what I was talking about. I tried to tell you, Lestrade tried to tell you, but you thought it was nothing."

"It is nothing."

"How- How is that nothing?!" John burst out, standing up and waving the newspaper in Sherlock's face. "Who do you know who can break into a high security vault like this and write the words 'Miss me' on the wall? Well, Sherlock? He's done much worse!"

"It's not him," Sherlock snarled, rounding on John. "It can't be. It's not."

"Can I see that?" Clara held out a hand for the newspaper which John gave to her with a perplexed exprression. She scanned her eyes over the front page as the two bickered, smirking when she read that the money had all been safely returned with no explanation as to what happened. Maybe there was a bit of goodness in him after all.

"Tell me about him," Clara tossed the newspaper onto the table and addressed Sherlock and John curiously. "Tell me what's going on, tell me."

"Who sent you here?" Sherlock turned to her, avoiding the demand. "Who was it that told you to come to 221B to know all about James Moriarty's story?"

Clara swallowed, unsure how to respond. She hadn't been expecting this kind of a reaction at the sound of his name, and it seemed that the message on the wall of the vault had been meant for Sherlock. Something told her that he wasn't exactly a friend.

"He did," She finally uttered quietly, wringing her hands together anxiously. "Moriarty."

"That's impossible," Sherlock's eyes grew wide and his lips barely moved as he uttered the words.

"Why?" Clara was growing more nervous by the minute.

"Because he's dead."

Clara felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. She opened her mouth to respond but closed it again, having no words to put forward. Dead? He couldn't be. He _wasn't._

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden hammering of heavy footsteps ascending the stairs at an urgent pace and she snapped up her head to see a well built, silver haired man burst into the room, clearly panic stricken.

"Lestrade, what is it?" Sherlock turned his attention to the man who Clara guessed was a police officer.

"There's been an explosion. A huge explosion, numerous fatalities and no logical explanation for any of it," Lestrade explained breathlessly. "Will you come?"

"Moriarty..." Sherlock whispered then shook his head as if trying to banish the thought. "I'll follow on behind."

Lestrade nodded and left as Sherlock shrugged on a long trench coat and motioned to John without looking at him.

"John, you're coming with me."

"Oi, wait!" Clara stood, stalking over to the arrogant detective. "You need to give me answers! Nothing you're saying is making any sense!"

"And nothing you're saying is making any sense either, which is why I have to use this potentially useful case to clear my head."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"No," Sherlock stated blankly, turning to leave. "Although I would be interested in talking to you some other time, the nonsense you're spouting really is quite interesting."

"Do you think it's him?" John addressed Sherlock, cutting Clara off before she could respond indignantly. "Moriarty? Explosion without a logical explanation? Sounds just like something he'd do for fun."

"No, John," Sherlock growled. "It can't be. This is all- This is all a mistake and I need to think it through."

"So you really don't think it's him?"

"It's a possibility," Sherlock scrunched his nose up in annoyance. "But it's too far fetched to consider right now."

"Makes sense though, if he's still alive."

"Two years? It wouldn't take much for him to get bored," Sherlock murmured thoughtfully but then frowned and shook his head angrily. "No. I'm not considering this right now, I'll go to my mind palace once I've got more to go on. To the scene of the crime, Watson!"

John raised his eyebrows in defeat and shot Clara an apologetic look.

"But I need what I came here for!" She demanded, following them out of the apartment at a quick pace. "You've only left me with more questions than I had before!"

"Talk to us tomorrow once I have more data," Sherlock hailed a cab and clambered in with John following. "You know where to find us."

"Wait- Oh, why do I even bother," Clara let out an indignant huff as the cab drew away from the footpath. She clenched her hands into fists, completely at a loss for what to do and feeling more frustrated than ever. Explosion? John had seemed to think that Moriarty was behind it, and just the thought filled her with dread. Was he alright? She wondered where he was, hoping fervently that he had had no hand in the matter and John was making an incorrect assumption.

She quickly hailed a cab, instructing the driver to take her to a street that was near her apartment. She held her head in her hands as she attempted to process all the new information. Dead? Jim Moriarty wasn't dead! Was it possible that Sherlock was talking about someone else? Somehow she didn't think so.

She left the cab about five minutes away from her flat, planning on doing some serious thinking. She needed answers, but there was no point hanging around 221B now that Sherlock and John weren't there. She couldn't stop worrying about Jim and the explosion and the fact that at least two men seemed to think he was dead. She needed to find out more about what had happened, needed to get to the site of the explosion.

She rushed into her flat and closed the door firmly behind her, sinking down onto the couch and shaking slightly. She was hopelessly confused and just wanted to know what was going on. She stared at her phone helplessly, wishing she had Jim's number so she could call him and ask him what the hell was going on.

She jumped at a knock on the door of her flat and froze in fear. Nobody had buzzed the intercom, but there was definitely someone outside. She rose slowly and winced as the door was knocked upon again more urgently this time and walked slowly up to it. She peered through the peephole, curiousity getting the better of her and let out a cry of surprise when she saw who it was, flinging open the door in a hurry.

Jim Moriarty stumbled slightly as the door unexpectedly gave way and caught himself just before he fell, using the doorframe as a support.

"Jim!" Clara cried in relief, the feeling fading suddenly as she took in his appearance. "Oh my God."

"Hi, Clara," Jim winced and swayed slightly. "Mind if I come in?"

"What happened?" Clara put a hand on his arm to steady him as he took a shaky step forward. "Are you okay? Stupid question, you're obviously not."

Jim looked more tired than Clara had ever seen him before, his usually sleek, well kept hair was messy and out of place. He was wearing a black suit, the clothing ripped in a couple of places. What shocked Clara the most and sent a chill of fear running down through her was the large stain of red seeping from his torn shirt.

"Sorry for choosing your carpet to bleed all over," Jim winced again with each step. "But I... I didn't have anywhere else to go."

Everything in Clara's mind fell away except for Jim Moriarty, Jim Moriarty who was in obvious need of her assistance. She felt sick with worry at the size of the wound, tears threatening to prick her eyes at the fear that he might not be alright. He stumbled and swore loudly, grabbing onto the side of the table in an attempt to remain upright as Clara rushed to help him.

"Don't worry about the carpet, nothing a bit of vanish won't fix," She led him to the couch gently helping him to lie down. "It's you I'm worrying about. Jim, what happened?"

"I'm going to ruin your couch."

"Jim!"

Maybe it was the choked tone of Clara's voice as her concerned tears threatened to spill, but Jim suddenly looked guilty and decided to explain.

"I... I made a mistake."

Jim let out a small cry of pain as Clara rolled up her scarf and pressed it to his stomach as gently as possible, holding it there in an attempt to staunch the blood flow.

"Clara, you don't have to-"

"I do."

"No, really," Jim protested as Clara took his hand and pressed it to the balled up scarf, resting hers atop his. "You don't need to help. I'll be fine, I just need a place to lay low until this bleeding stops."

"Well this bleeding won't stop until it's too late unless you let me help you," Clara replied firmly, standing up. "Hold that there. I'll be right back."

Jim mumbled something incoherently that sounded very much like a swear word as Clara rushed to the cupboard in the kitchen where she kept her medical supplies, unable to shake the nagging worry that the contents of her first aid kit may not be enough to tend to Jim's injuries. She practically ran back to the man lying on her couch, annoyed to see that he was attempting to sit up.

"Oi!" She yelled, running over to him as he flopped back down with a groan. "No moving, Mister!"

Jim muttered something unintelligible again, his breathing becoming shallow as he began to lose consciousness. Clara realised that he was losing an awful lot of blood despite her makeshift attempts to stop the bleeding.

"Jim?" She put a hand to his cheek as his dark brown eyes focused on her. "What happened?"

"A meeting with a client," Jim wheezed as Clara took away the scarf in an attempt to get a better view of the extent of the damage. "He had to be stopped but I was just a tad reckless with the timing..." He paused and inhaled sharply as Clara helped him shrug out of his jacket. "But if I'd have left it any later I would've had to wait a lot longer to get another chance to end him... Bombs," He spat out the word with a pained scoff. "So unpredictable."

Clara's hands shook as she gently unbuttoned his blood soaked shirt, realising that it had been him that had caused the explosion. And by the sound of it, he had killed a man too.

"So," Clara's voice shook slightly as she spoke. "You... You blew up a building just to kill one guy?"

"No, no, don't be silly," Jim gave a strained chuckle. "The man was shot dead. The explosion was just a cover up, just a little something to mystify the incompetent police. No one searches for a bullet in amoungst charred rubble."

Clara wasn't sure how to respond but her anxiety at the fact that Jim was clearly a lot more dangerous than she had first realised was replaced by fear at the sight of the huge gash in his side as she peeled his bloody shirt back.

"Jim," She whispered urgently. "We need to get you to a hospital."

"No," His tone was harsh and firm as he replied, despite the fact that he was in a weak state, and Clara knew she couldn't argue with him. "That would be an extremely stupid idea."

"No, you know what an extremely stupid idea is?" Clara responded shakily. "Killing a man and then nearly getting yourself blown up in the process!"

"It's... Complicated," Jim hissed as Clara began to clean the gash so there would be no risk of infection.

"I'd believe it," She replied curtly. "There's a lot of things that are complicated around here. I went to 221B today."

"Oh?" Jim's tone was light but he stiffened and studied her almost anxiously. "And?"

"And they were called away by some police guy telling them about a mysterious explosion," Clara replied quietly. "So I didn't get to hear your story. But they... They did tell me one thing."

"Which was?" Jim questioned softly after a small pause. Clara swallowed nervously before speaking the words.

"They told me you were dead."

"Ah, yes I forgot about that bit," Jim's playful tone had returned though it was slightly strained.

"What did they mean?" Clara demanded. "You're here, you're alive! Well, just about."

"It's just part of the story," Jim spoke quietly in his soft Irish accent. "Spoiler alert, not dead."

"But..." Clara frowned as she reached for the bandages. The wound was even worse now that she could see it more clearly, but the blood wasn't gushing as strongly as before. She was scared, becoming more and more terrified at every new piece of information she picked up about Jim Moriarty, but she couldn't stand seeing him in pain. He let out a soft groan as she began to wrap the bandage around his torso and she winced slightly.

"Sorry," She murmured softly. "I'm being as gentle as possible. Promise."

"I know," Jim ground out exhaustedly, a small whimper leaving his lips as she finished up. He took a few deep breaths, eyes squeezed tightly shut before he murmured. "Why?"

"Why what?" Clara stood to wash the blood off her hands, making sure it was completely gone before she made her way back to Jim. She wasn't one for getting faint at the sight of blood, but all the same, she didn't like it.

She knelt down beside Jim who was still lying motionless with his eyes closed. His breathing was shallow, but she was gaining the confidence that he would be okay.

"Why did you help me?" He murmured softly, opening his eyes to look at Clara. She could see the confusion and a hint of vulnerability in his eyes and she realised that he probably didn't receive much kindness. "You didn't have to."

"Yes, I did," Clara took his hand gently in an action that surprise both herself and Jim. He stiffened at first, but the effort seemed to take too much out of him and he relaxed into her touch with a small sigh, giving her hand a light squeeze. Clara smiled at the warm feeling which gathered in her stomach, her heart rate speeding up slightly for some reason she couldn't explain.

"I don't like seeing you hurt," She mumbled, clarifying her earlier response. "So don't go getting yourself blown up again, yeah?" She attempted to lighten the atmosphere with a small grin.

"I don't tend to make a habit of it," Jim smirked. "But you have to treat things differently when you're supposed to be dead."

"Hold up," Clara frowned in confusion. "I'm still not getting something here."

"It really is a long story," Jim sighed heavily, allowing his lids to slide closed once again. "You're going back to Baker Street, I assume?"

"How did you know?" She sighed with a smile, then backtracked. "Wait, no. Don't answer that. I've already had that Sherlock Holmes bloke telling me my life story after I asked him a simple question."

Jim chuckled softly, wincing with pain at the action. Before Clara even realised what she was doing, she reached out and ran her hand through his soft, brown hair with a smile. Jim started and blinked at the sudden affectionate action, but couldn't help but smile slightly.

"Help me sit up," He spoke quietly after a moments silence. Clara frowned.

"I'm no doctor, but I really think you should be resting."

"I can rest sitting up."

"Right," Clara raised an eyebrow dubiously. "You planning on making a quick getaway or something?"

Jim struggled to sit up with a groan and Clara took hold of his arm to help, knowing that he was just as stubborn as she was and it would be no use to try and argue with him.

He struggled to catch his breath, leaning back against the couch. Clara sat down onto the couch close to him, feeling slightly worried that he'd do something idiotic while he was in this weakened state.

"Are you scared yet?"

His voice was low, soft and he refused to look at her as he spoke the words quietly. Clara paused, taken aback by the sudden question. She wasn't sure how to answer.

"I... I don't know," She murmured, looking up into his deep brown eyes which softened slightly as they met hers. "I don't know if I'm scared, angry, confused... I don't know."

"Some positive emotions in there aswell, I hope?" Jim had the arrogance to smirk despite the fact that the action caused a sharp pain to run down his side. He swore quietly, clutching his side as his eyes flashed with anger.

"There might be," Clara smirked back, reaching out a hand to take his as she didn't know what else to do to help. She was still trying to process all the information she had discovered about the pyschopath, still in shock and unsure how to feel. Deep down she felt she had known all along that he was capable of murder, that he was probably capable of much more, but she didn't want to believe it. She wanted to push the thought far far away, because she didn't want to push him away.

"I'd prefer to hear your story from your own mouth though," She spoke softly as Jim traced small circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. It was unexpected from him, and she had a feeling he hardly even realised that he was doing it. But she definitely wasn't complaining.

"I'm not sure you do," He whispered, casting his gaze down to their entertwined hands. "But I know you're not going to give up until you find out."

Clara nodded mutely, knowing that he was right. She couldn't back away now, she was in too deep. She had to return to 221B, and this time she was going to get answers no matter what.

"Let's just pretend you're not a criminal psychopath for a minute and just enjoy this, yeah?" She leaned her head against his shoulder on his uninjured side, feeling content.

"I'm not sure how I can enjoy sitting here with my side slashed open," Jim wriggled slightly, clearly not expecting her to curl up against him.

"Shhh, you're ruining it," She smiled, closing her eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted after the strange morning she'd had. She knew it wasn't late enough for sleep, but that didn't stop her eyelids from feeling heavy.

Jim sighed and mumbled something unintelligible but slowly relaxed, allowing Clara to lean against him more comfortably. She found that she felt happy, even though she knew she shouldn't, but her brain began to shut down and everything fell away except for Jim. She found herself falling asleep against the psychotic criminal, hoping that he would be there when she woke, but knowing that there was a good chance he wouldn't be.

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**Awh, I managed to get some fluff in there ;;) So what did you think? :D I live for reviews guys, they're like the nicotine patch to my Sherlock :)**

**Did you like it? What's your favourite chapter so far? :D **

**Guys, I'm begging you, please get inspiration from this and write a fanfic for this pairing because mine is like only one there aND IT'S KILLING ME BECAUSE I NEED TO READ FANFICS FOR THEM I HAVE FEELS OKAY.**

**Phew. Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading that as much as I enjoyed writing it and I'd loveeeee if you reviewed :D Thanks guys ilysm!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey hey heyyyy my pack of baes :D How are you all? So this chapter was pretty fun to write, I really hope you like it, it clears up a lot and prepares y'all for the huge plot in the story ;;)**

**I WANT THIS WHOLOCK CROSSOVER TO HAPPEN AND I WANT CLARIARTY TO BE CANON SO BAD OMFG. UGH.**

**So I hope you like it, and remember, I breathe reveiws, they are my oxygen. Don't let me drown, review guys! :D**

* * *

Clara awoke slowly and distinctly became aware that she was alone. She blinked, tilting her head to find that she was curled up on the couch, but her head no longer rested against Jim's shoulder. She sat up, realising that it was well into the next day and she must have slept for ages. Her exhaustion over the past while had finally caught up on her. She cast a quick glance around the small flat but the silence told her that her suspicions were correct. Jim Moriarty was no longer there.

"Oh, you idiot," She groaned as she sat up, annoyed at the man's carelessness. He obviously didn't take care of himself at all, and was hardly fit to be roaming around by himself the way he was. She struggled not to worry but couldn't help it, trying to put her mind at ease in the hope that he had probably got some sleep and may have recovered a little bit at least.

A small piece of paper on the coffee table beside the couch caught her eye as she made to stand and she snatched it up quickly, her heart pounding as she scanned the words on the page.

_You fell asleep on me, didn't realise I was that boring!_

_Don't worry, I'm still not dead. I had to leave, staying here wouldn't be safe for you._

_Do give Sherly and Johnny boy my love when you get to 221B, won'tyou?_

_Oh, and I put my number in your phone._

_\- JM._

Clara couldn't help but smile at the small note, tucking it safely into her pocket after re reading it a few times. She felt some of her worry lessen slightly at the knowledge that he was alright, but that still didn't console her completely. She decided her next stop would be 221B, she was in the mood for a good story.

She scrolled quickly through her contact, smirking when she saw Jim Moriarty's number amoung the list. She decided to comply a quick text to make sure he was okay, just to put her mind at ease.

_You were bleeding a lot last night. If you die due to your own carelessness, I will kill you. Idiot :)_

_-CO_

She sent it with a grin, knowing that Jim would at least get a laugh out of it. After a hasty shower, removing any last traces of blood from herself and the apartment, she left, hailing a cab and readying herself for the story that awaited in 221B, Baker Street. She checked her phone, grinning when she saw that it was a text from Jim.

_That would be extremely ambitious of you :)_

_-JM_

She stifled a laugh and thanked the cabbie in a rush, eager to speak with the consulting detective and his blogger. She wasn't sure if she should give too much about Moriarty away, and decided to keep her mouth shut for the most part. Until she knew more about him, anyway.

She wasn't left waiting long when the door opened to reveal Mrs Hudson whose eyes lit up as she saw a face she recognised.

"Clara, Clara, do come in," She smiled in welcome, ushering her through the door. "How are you, dear?"

"Fine, thanks, Mrs Hudson," She grinned back at the kindly old lady, noticing the sound of a violin playing a sweet melody she didn't recognise from upstairs. Mrs Hudson noticed her gaze as it trailed up to the flat above.

"Boys! Clara is here to see you!" She called and the violin ceased playing for a moment, only to resume again a moment later at a slightly quicker pace. Mrs Hudson turned to her with a light expression. "Go on up dear, he's in quite a good mood today. I would say it's because it's nearly Christmas, but I think it's actually because there's just been another murder not too far away."

Clara blinked at the lady's lighthearted tone when discussing something as serious as murder, but she supposed Mrs Hudson was well used to it, being Sherlock Holmes' landlady. She thanked her hastily and hurried up the stairs, brimming with anticipation at what answers she would gain. She knocked briefly on the closed door and let herself in, offering the two men a smile as she entered.

"Hello again, boys," She grinned as John smiled back warmly, once again seated in the same archair as last time, only with a mobile phone in his hand instead of a newspaper.

"Clara," He nodded in greeting, giving Sherlock a warning glare as the other man gave his violin bow one last flourish and ended the tune with vigour. Clara was pleased to see that he was dressed in more suitable attire than a dressing gown this time, and was wearing a dark suit which was a stark contrast to his pale skin.

There was a few strands of tinsel sparsely decorating the fireplace, complete with a bauble dangling off what Clara hoped wasn't a real human skull, giving the impression that Sherlock had been forced to leave them there. He didn't seem to be one for festivities.

"Clara Oswald," Sherlock Holmes draped himself across a chair and raised an eyebrow. "Sit down. John, go make some tea."

"What did your last slave die of," John grumbled, remaining unmoving as he finished complying a text.

"Poison."

"Oh shut up. I'm not making you tea."

"Well then, what do I keep you for?"

"I'm making _Clara _tea," John raised an eyebrow and gave Clara a look, a small smile playing around his lips.

"That doesn't sound half bad," Clara grinned in response as Sherlock huffed, gradually descending from the previous good mood he had apparently been in. "So, Detective Boy. There's no point telling you what I'm here for, you probably already know."

"Correct."

"So," Clara sat down in the same chair she had occupied the last time she had been there and fidgeted slightly. "You're going to tell me about Moriarty then, right?"

"Wrong."

"What?" She stiffened slightly, not expecting him to be difficult about it. "How do you mean, wrong?"

"I mean that I will tell you everything I know about Moriarty," Sherlock began slowly, leaning back in his chair and smirking. "In exchange for everything you know about him. So go on. Enlighten me."

"Sorry, Mr Holmes," Clara folded her arms across her chest and raised a challenging eyebrow. If there was one thing she had learned from being a teacher, it was that you lay down the rules and don't let others question it. "I asked first."

"That's not how it works," Sherlock growled in annoyance, leaning forward in aggitation. He clearly hadn't expected to be challenged.

"You don't get to decide that," Clara replied curtly, unwilling to share her information too soon. She felt the need to protect Jim and didn't want to slip up. She softened her expression and leaned forward earnestly, almost pleading. "Please, Sherlock. I need to know his story."

Sherlock Holmes narrowed his eyes in concentration as he stared at her, cocking his head to the side slightly.

"Clara, how ma-"

"She takes three sugars, John," Sherlock interrupted his flat mate before he could finish his unspoken question. Clara raised her eyebrow in amusement, but couldn't deny that he was right.

"How did you know that then?" She questioned curiously,

"Touch of sugar on your sleeve from this morning, that rules out the possibility of taking no sugar," He shrugged simply. "The rest is balance of probability. You're a school teacher, you take more than one because it helps you wake up in the morning, you often have trouble waking up on time as I can tell from your lack of good punctuality. You don't take two, however, the spot of sugar on your sleeve indicates that the spoon was raised more than twice, but less than four times..."

Clara frowned and rubbed at her sleeve self consciously.

"Well, that's all well and good, Sherlock," She quirked an eyebrow again. "But I know how I take my tea. I'm looking for you to tell me something I don't know. Like-"

"Like the great tale of James Moriarty, the consulting criminal, yes," Sherlock rolled his eyes impatiently and heaved a sigh. "Tell me why you want to know."

Clara began to get impatient and more anxious with each passing second. She needed to know the full story about Jim and Sherlock Holmes was making this unbearably difficult. "I told you, I-"

"Oh, for God's sake, Sherlock," John left the kitchen and placed a cup of tea next to Clara which she accepted gratefully this time. "If you won't tell her, I will. Jim Moriarty was probably the most dangerous, psychotic man you could ever meet. Not that you will meet him, because he's dead."

Clara nodded slowly, ignoring the fact that John had jut informed her that he was deceased and trying to act like that didn't bother her, or confuse the hell out of her. She noticed Sherlock watching her intently out of the corner of her eye, a slight frown marring his features, but she determinedly stared at John instead.

"First time I met him," John continued in a light but slightly irritated tone as he recollected his memories, bring his cup of tea to his lips. "He tried to blow me up. Twice, actually. Oh wait sorry, the second time he tried to _shoot_ me, not blow me up. He decided to vary it a little. All in the space of about ten minutes, very efficient."

Clara stalled her hands as she brought the cup to her lips, her eyes widening as John went on. She realised she was shaking slightly and considered putting the cup down, but didn't want to draw too much attention to herself. Sherlock's eyes on her were making her feel uncomfortable, almost as if he knew she knew something important. Like the fact that his nemisis was still alive, though the world thought he was dead.

"He was a psychopath," John burst out. "A complete psychopath who wouldn't think twice about murdering any innocent person. He- What, Sherlock?"

Sherlock, who had just made a scoffing noise at John's comment, feigned ignorance and waved at John to continue. "Nothing," He huffed in a strained tone. "Go on."

"Right," John frowned, slightly put off. "Where was I, oh yeah completel raving lunatic who just kills for fun- What _now_?"

Sherlock had groaned again in the middle of John's explanation and was looking extremely annoyed and just a bit bored. He leaned back, his chin tucked into his chest and mumbled something that Clara couldn't quite make out, and neither could John by the way he leaned forward with a scowl.

"What was that?" He ground out through gritted teeth.

"You're telling it wrong!" Sherlock sprang up from his chair, steepling his fingers underneath his chin and beginning to pace. "The thing you have to understand about James Moriarty, Clara, is that he isn't a man at all. He's a spider."

Clara froze at his words, a chill running down through her but gave him a small nod of encouragment as he went on. She noticed that he had habitually lapsed into talking about Moriarty in the present tense, almost as if he was absentmindedly entertaining the idea that he might still be alive, though the conscious part of his part was denying it as it didn't add up with the facts.

"A spider at the centre of a web," Sherlock hissed resentfully with just a hint of respect in his tone that Clara didn't fail to pick up on. "A criminal web with a thousand threads and he knows precisely how each and every single one of them dances. That's where you went wrong, John. You said he was a psychopath who wouldn't think twice about murdering any inncoent person. That's true of course, to a certain extent. But he's so much cleverer than that."

"But he _has_ killed innoc-"

"Yes, yes, John do shut up please, I'm storytelling," Sherlock huffed indignantly, waving a hand at John in aggitation. "But he's always playing a game, and it's _not_ senseless. He always has a purpose for it, the innocent people are mere pawns in his game of deadly chess."

"But he does it for fun," John butted in again, half turning to Clara as he explained. "I get what you're saying Sherlock, he always has some elaborate game going on. But sometimes he just gets bored, like any psychopath does."

"But he's not just any old psychopath," Sherlock murmured, sitting down in his chair again slowly as he stared at the wall in thought. "He's clever, he's scheming and he's dangerous."

"And he's dead- Sherlock, why are we talking about him in the present tense?" John suddenly voiced the opinion with a confused expression. It seemed to Clara that he had given up on his suspicions that Moriarty was behind the bank break down and the recent bombing even though they were actually correct. She guessed that Sherlock had shot that idea down, forcing him to aswell. Or maybe it was that they just didn't want to believe it. John frowned with a sigh. "I mean, we know he's..."

Sherlock didn't respond to John's unfinished question, but he didn't have to for Clara to know that he had been about to say 'dead'. Sherlock seemed to be thinking intently, thinking out various possibilies and solutions to the conundrum he had been presented with.

"Okay, you wanted to know his story, so I'll give it to you," Sherlock glanced up at Clara, holding her gaze. She lenaed forward instictively, itching to finally hear the whole truth. "I didn't know James Moriarty long, but I knew him long enough to know that he was the most dangerous foe I had come up against yet. He seeked me out because I kept prying into his work unintentionally, and he warned me to back off. I should've killed him then and there-"

"Which would have killed you and me too, Sherlock, thanks very much," John raised an eyebrow, though he was leaning forward aswell, seeming as interested in the tale as Clara was.

"John, what did I tell you about _butting in_," Sherlock raised his eyes up with a sigh and continued. "He told me to back off, left, then came back moments later once we thought we were safe. He was unpredictable, completely unpredictable and that was a challenge even for me, all the way to the end."

Sherlock paused, seemingly lost in his memories and Clara found that she was trembling. She took a deep breath and John cleared his throat, snapping Sherlock out of his trance and causing him to continue.

"Yes, he decided he was going to kill us, but was interrupted by a very important call which saved all our lives, I must admit," Sherlock rubbed his chin thoughtfully with his steepled fingertips, a small crease in between his brow. "But that was only the beginning of our great game. I don't suppose you heard, with all the travelling you'vebeen doing, about the time he stole the crown jewels?"

Clara choked on her tea, eyes widening. "He _what?_"

"Stole the crown jewels, yes," Sherlock gave a small amused inclining of his head. "Well, I say steal. More like he broke into to the vault for his own amusment and waited for the authorities to find him. He allowed himself to be caught, because that was his plan all along."

"And then he was found not guilty," John seemed to be unable to help himself from interrupting with his own reinaction of the tale. "Everyone knew he had done it, but the jury declared him not guilty! I didn't understand how at first but we soon realised-"

"_I_ soon realised."

"Right," John scowled at Sherlock fondly. "That he had blackmailed each member of the jury. Just shows how much power he had. It was scary really."

"We had a little chat then, Jim and I," Sherlock continued in a lighthearted tone though his eyes remained cold. "About how he owed me a fall. I must admit, I underestimated him. His plan wasn't just to kill me, but it was to destroy me. To burn me. Everything about me, ruined. He made people believe that I was a fraud, even those closest to me. Except for John of course, John always stood by me. Even though he's about to forsake me in favour of getting married-"

"Sherlock," John heaved a sigh. "Don't bring this up again. Look, I'm here with you now, aren't I? Nothing's changed."

"End of an era..."

"_Back to Jim Moriarty_," John spoke loudly, eyes wide as he heaved an aggitated sigh. Clara chuckled at their little domestic_, _quite enjoying the company of the two. She could see that they had a strong friendship, and could also tell that Sherlock wasn't a man who made friends easily.

"My final meeting with James Moriarty was on the roof of St. Bart's hospital," Sherlock's tone grew dark, but he carried on talking with the same brisk pace. "He had destroyed my image, tainted my name, even made it look like I had simply made him up. That James Moriarty wasn't even real, that he was just an actor. He had a fake identity for himself, and proved me to be a fraud. Proved that I had made up all the crimes I had solved just to make myself look good. The last step in the final problem was for me to kill myself. Throw myself off the roof of an exceptionally tall building, in fact. Jim always was one for drama," Sherlock commented dryly. "He even gave me a little extra incentive. He had three bullets prepared for the three who mattered most to me, and they would die unless I threw myself off the roof."

Clara noticed that John had tensed visibly and was glaring at the floor. She hadn't realised how hard her heart was beating until that moment. She clutched her tea tightly in her two hands, willing Sherlock to go on.

"I figured that there was a signal to call off the shooters," Sherlock continued briskly. "That as long as I had Moriarty, then John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson would live. But the one thing I didn't anticipate was just how far Moriarty would go just to see me fail, how unhinged he really was. He shot himself in the head, forcing me to jump."

Clara gaped at Sherlock, her knuckles white from gripping the cup so tightly. She took a deep, shuddering breath, eyes wide.

"He... He killed himself?" She whispered shakily, wondering how on Earth he had managed to survive a suicide.

"Yes, quite efficiently," Sherlock replied curtly, unperturbed by Clara's unease. "Of course that meant I had to jump. So I did."

"Then how are _you_ alive?" Clara spluttered in shock. "You both decided to kill yourselves? You're all bloody mental!"

Sherlock shrugged, widening his eyes slightly at Clara's outburst. "I may be 'mental'," He cocked an eyebrow. "But I am still alive. Moriarty is not. He didn't value his own life, he cared more about winning the game. So I would assume that he was just a bit more 'mental' than me."

"Yeah," Clara shook her head slowly. "Yeah, way more mental. Complete raving lunatic, like John said."

"So go on then, Sherlock," John widened his eyes at the detective and waved a hand at him in a mock flourish. His voice was strained and Clara could tell that he was suddenly angry about something. "Tell her how you survived. Tell her how you let me grieve for two years thinking you were _dead_."

"Now, John, I thought we were over this whole 'two years' fiasco," Sherlock scoffed, his grin fading slightly at the deadly glare in John eyes. "Yes," He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well."

"Honestly, you two are like an old married couple," Clara shook her head with a shaky grin. "So, you threw yourself off a roof and lived? Not bad."

"Unlike Moriarty, I was able to fake my death," He muttered with narrowed eyes, clasping his hand together in front of him. He didn't seem to want to entertain the possibility that Moriarty might still be alive, or maybe it was simply that the scenario didn't add up with the facts in his head. "I had some help of course, from my homeless network and my brother, but it took me two years to unravel Moriarty's network. Two years of being dead."

Clara swallowed thickly and stood, her legs shaking slightly. "Thanks... Thanks for telling me."

"Well if you take away anything from that," Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "It's that Moriarty was one of the cleverest, most malicious, most dangerous men I have ever met. In fact, he isn't- wasn't, a man at all. A consulting criminal, a psychopath, are the words I would use to describe him."

"I..." Clara paused, taking a shaky step backwards, her mind reeling. "I really have to go. But thank you."

"Wait!" Sherlock stood haughtily with an indignant expression etched upon his features. "You haven't told us your part of the story."

"I will... Another time," Clara squeaked, feeling guilty for not keeping her part of the bargain but knowing that if she stayed any longer she would surely burst into tears and began having a panic attack. "Goodbye!"

She scurried down the stairs, ignoring Sherlock's halfhearted yell of indignance and left without another word, pushing past a startled Mrs Hudson who yelled "Oh boys, what have you done now?" and ran out onto the street.

She didn't stop, unwilling to cease walking until she was a safe distance from 221B. Her breathing became rough and shallow, and she could feel tears begin to prick her eyes but she pushed them back adamantly.

_"James Moriarty isn't a man at all."_

The words rang in her mind, rebounding off the inside of her skull and beginning to give her a pounding headache. She was surprised to see that it was late evening and was starting to get dark. She hadn't realised she had spent so much time at 221B, but she supposed she had slept quite late. She jumped, startled when her phone buzzed in her pocket, indicating that she had recieved a text.

_There's an abandoned library two streets down to your left._

_I know you want to talk._

_-JM_

The words on the screen blurred as Clara's eyes filled with moisture and she hastily wiped them away with her sleeve. He was right, she _did_ want to talk to him. But at the same time, she was absolutely terrified to. For the first time, she was scared to face him. Because now she had all the facts, all the facts that she had suspected but had been trying so hard to deny. She knew she had to talk to him, but she had a feeling that the person she needed to talk to the most right now was a pyschiatrist, because why else would she care for a murderous pyschopath, even after all he had done.

She didn't reply to the message, she knew she didn't have to. Jim knew that she was going to be there, and so did she. She walked briskly, wishing she could stop the torrent of screaming thoughts that just would not leave her alone.

The cold, December light faded quickly, more quickly than she had anticipated and before long the large throngs of people were beginning to thin out and the street lamps were flickering into life. Everyone seemed to be heading home early for work in the morning, and she knew she should be joining them. She was definitely going to lose her job at this rate, and she blamed a certain consulting criminal.

She knew the library was the right one when she reached it. It was a tall grey structure, looming and desolate, but it was in fairly good condition, as if it had only been closed down recently and hadn't been neglected for long. She wondered for a moment how she would get in, but then decided to simply try the front door. It was, as she had suspected, unlocked. She didn't question how Jim made his way into these public buildings anymore.

She felt a shiver run down through her as she entered the building and closed the door behind her where it shut with a gentle click. She looked around, but there were no signs of life inside. She knew better than to assume that she was alone, of course.

She walked slowly across the room as she waited for Jim Moriarty to make his presence known, cringing at the loud click her shoes made on the hard wooden floor. She wandered down through the abandoned aisles where few books remained, thick layers of dust coating their spines and rendering the titles unreadable.

"There was a man with a story, a man who spent his whole life just searching for distractions."

Clara jumped at the soft voice that suddenly sounded from behind her. There was no mistake that it was Jim Moriarty's lilting Irish tone, but she hadn't heard him approach. She didn't turn around, not having the courage to face him just yet. From what she could hear, he seemed to be keeping his distance, standing behind her quite far back. He was about to finish the story, she realised, closed her eyes and balling up her fists in the hope that it would prevent her tears from falling.

"Playing with the ordinary people became boring," His voice was deadly and threatening, and Clara could almost hear the mocking grimace on his face as he spoke. "So he decided to have some fun with Sherlock Holmes. He decided to destroy him. They played the great game, and he held all the cards."

"You- You're a murderer," Clara choked out in a strained whisper, trying to let her tears fall. "You- You apparently killed yourself just so Sherlock would have to die, just to win a _game._ You're insane."

"Maybe I am!"

Clara flinched at the sudden shout, Jim's enraged yell echoing through the vast room and rebounding off the walls. She had never felt properly frightened by him until now.

"Are you scared yet?" Jim's voice had returned to a low whisper, his voice somewhat choked. "Are you?"

Clara opened her mouth to reply, her back still facing him, but she couldn't force the words out. She was scared, but she wasn't sure if she was actually scared of him.

"Yes," She whispered finally, allowing one solitary tear to fall. "I am scared. But I'm scared of the things you've done, I'm not scared of you."

"That could prove to be a fatal mistake," Jim growled menacingly, but Clara wasn't about to let him push her away.

"Well maybe I'm just an idiot," She gave a low, strained chuckle, closing her eyes tightly shut again.

"You're the only one not to run away," Jim's voice was strained again, and there was a hint of sadness in it that surprised Clara. She still hadn't turned to face him, but she could hear the vulnerability in his voice. "The only one who didn't get scared."

"But..." Clara paused, taking a deep breath. "The story's not over yet. You're supposed to be dead. It's not over. Finish it."

"I didn't really die. Sherlock didn't really die. Turns out we both faked suicide at each other. The end."

"Tell me _how_," Clara's voice cracked but she was determined to get the full story before she decided what to do. "And tell me how the Doctor is involved."

"He helped Sherlock survive, that's how," Jim replied bluntly. "Sherlock lied to his friends about how he managed to live, he jumped, and a big blue box just happened to be passing by."

"The Doctor saved him?" Clara gasped, her eyes flashing open. "What he just like, fell into the Tardis?"

"Apparently so," Jim's tone was once again emotionless. "Ruined my fun."

"So how did you survive?" Clara was trembling again. "You," She swallowed thickly, the tears beginning to flow as she struggled to get the words out. "You shot yourself in the head."

"No, I didn't," Jim paused with a sigh, almost bored. "The gun was a fake, designed to cause a sound like a gunshot and build up enough pressure to burst a blood bag attached to the back of my head. I fell, Sherlock jumped back, the rest was just good acting."

Clara's mind was spinning out of control with all the information it had just absorbed. She couldn't reply, she didn't have the words to describe how she felt. She couldn't deny that she cared about Jim, though she kept trying to push those feelings to the back of her mind. Because she knew she couldn't fall for a psychotic serial killer. But she wasn't falling for him, no she _wasn't_... She trembled slightly, shaking her head as she tried to push the thoughts away.

"Stunned into silence by my cleverness?" Jim let out a humourless laugh. He paused, and Clara heard him take a deep breath as his tone turned more serious. "I- I know... I know I'm not... Good."

He seemed to be struggling to find the right words, and it seemed to be difficult for him to get them out.

"But, Clara," His voice suddenly became thick with emotion, something Clara hadn't known he was capable of. "I don't... I just need distractions. But it's not fun anymore if you... If you don't..."

He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. Clara finally turned around to face him, the tears flowing freely down her face now. Jim was standing motionless, a slightly pained expression on his face. He showed no obvious signs of the previous injury he had endured, his new dark suit free of any traces of blood, unlike the night before. He looked vulnerable and somewhat sad, and Clara felt a dull ache in her chest as she took a few stumbling, shaky steps forward.

"Jim," She choked out in a whisper, his face blurring slightly through her tears. Unable to fight it anymore, she ran forward, closing the distance between them and threw her arms around his waist with a choked sob.

Jim staggered backwards slightly at the unexpected impact, letting out a small startled noise. Clara froze suddenly, having momentarily forgot about his injury and worried she had possibly hurt him but Jim began to relax, letting her know that it was alright. After a few moments he came to his senses and wrapped his arms around Clara slowly, almost disbelievingly. Before she knew it, Clara was sobbing into his chest, all her pent up emotion since she had first met him being released as she clutched at him, never wanting to let go. She knew it was irrational, but she needed him. And she saw something in him that no one else seemed to, she knew that there was more to him than his apparent coldhearted insanity. James Moriarty was a man, and she was certain of that, even if it took a little push in the right direction by Clara to bring that out.

Jim buried his face in her hair, holding her closer to him and Clara noticed that he was trembling. She realised that this was new for him too, that he had probably never had anyone care about him.

"I'm... Sorry," He choked out, almost as if he was fighting back tears but Clara couldn't be sure. She just clutched him tighter, trying to ease his shaking, trying to let him know that he was forgiven, no matter what.

"It's okay," She murmured, attempting to calm her sobbing. "It's okay."

She pulled back slightly to look at Jim whose eyes were glistening with unshed tears which she knew he would refuse to ever let fall. She raised a shaking hand to touch his cheek gently, offering a small smile.

"It's okay to let your walls down sometimes," She whispered, stroking his cheek gently. "It's okay."

Jim took a shuddering breath, a couple of tears falling and running down his face at her words. "I'm sorry," He choked out again, a sob escaping his lips. Clara buried her face into the crook of his neck as his shaking became stronger than ever and wrapped her arms around him tightly. She was sure that this was proabbly the only time Jim had ever let out his emotions instead of keeping them bottled up. His swallowed down his sobs after his few seconds of weakness, as if ashamed, though his whole frame still trembled violently.

Clara's sobs had stilled aswell, her tears beginning to fade away, but she was still reluctant to let go of Jim.

"Just please," She took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "Please stay. Don't push me away. I- I need you."

Jim didn't reply, but made no move to let her go, and that was answer enough for Clara. She pressed a soft kiss to his neck and buried her face into his chest again, unsure how long they would stay in this position for but happy to stay like that for the rest of her life.

* * *

**SOOOO WHAT DID YOU THINK? :D Oh my GOD I was literally having a feels attack as I was writing that last half with Jim and Clara, my hands went all tingly. I hope your hands go all tingly when you read it. Or your heart goes all tingly. Or your brain. Or... Something. What I'm trying to say is, I hope you like it :D**

**OH AND HEY, NEWSFLASH, THIS DAY ONE YEAR AGO PETER CAPALDI WAS ANNOUNCED AS THE NEW DOCTOR AYYY!**

**Not long until s8 now ahh I'm screaming :D**

**Oh and guys, if you're on twitter you should totally check out BadWolfRose00 's clariarty edits, they are AMAZING OMG.**

**So please, feel free to leave a review or two, it would make my day :D I love love loveeee getting feedback from you guys! Thanks so much! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

***ATTENTION! ALTERATIONS HAVE BEEN MADE TO THE END OF THIS CHAPTER BECAUSE I DECIDED TO TAKE THE STORY DOWN A DIFFERENT ROUTE SO REREADING THE LAST FEW PARAGRAPHS MAY BE NECESSARY***

**Ayyy lemme just say a huge THANK YOUUU for the amazing reviews, I had so much fun reading them omg :') I'm still fangirling over those reviews guys, seriously. YOU'RE ALL AMAZING!**

**Okay so this chapter... I don't really like it. Idk, just warning you I don't think it's as good as the others, and I don't really like it tbh :/ I needed to put it in there though, it's more of a filler for the story.**

**I hope it's not too bad! Hopefully you guys will review? ;) Thank you!**

A few days had passed since Jim Moriarty had walked Clara home after that night at the abandoned library, and she had heard no word from him. She tried to convince herself that he was alright, but she couldn't quite get rid of the nagging worry that something might have happened when he didn't even send her a quick text letting her know that everything was fine. She knew he had bigger things to be worrying about than her, but she knew how dangerous his life was and had sent a text a day in the hope that he would at some point reply.

She busied herself with work and decided to call the Doctor, feeling guilty that she had neglected her friend for so long but she had to admit that she had been quite preoccupied. She tapped in the number quickly with a small smile, confident that he would answer as he always did.

"Clara Oswald!" The Doctor's cheerful, slightly out of breath voice reached her on the third ring. Clara really had missed him, she realised with a grin. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Just checking up on you, Doc," She replied with a smile, phone to her ear as she leafed through the pages of her text book she was supposed to be studying in lessons. "I'm on my lunch break, so I can't talk for long. Caused any explosions in my absence? Tardis still intact? I bet she's missing me."

"Lunch, wow that sounds like a plan," The Doctor's grin was practicably audible to Clara as he forsake all of her questions except that one topic. "What do you think, Little Red Thingy? Lunch? Lunch. I know this fantastic plac-"

"Doctor, who are you talking to?" Clara chuckled, turning her attention away from her book and back to the eccentric Time Lord.

"Oh, I picked up a new... Thing. He's little and red."

"Yeah, I got that much," Clara rolled her eyes though the Doctor couldn't see. "You've replaced me already, have you?"

"Why, have you replaced me?" The Doctor's smirk was evident in his voice and Clara knew what he was implying.

"Maybe I have," She smirked back. "I know a guy who's cleverer than you. Become quite acquainted with him."

"Oi!" The Doctor yelled indignantly and Clara had to hold the phone away from her ear with a laugh. She loved teasing him. The Doctor paused then asked ominously. "Cleverer than me, eh? Is... Is he human?"

"Yes," Clara laughed with a small shake of her head. "Well, at times."

"Go on then, what's his name," The Doctor grumbled, causing Clara to smirk. She paused, wondering if she should reveal his name but then seeing that it would do no harm. It was only the Doctor, and even if he did know of Jim, he wouldn't have any way of knowing that she was talking specifically about a notorious criminal psychopath.

"Jim Moriarty."

There was silence on the other end of the phone and Clara jumped at the sound of a small crash. There was a scrambling as the Doctor picked the phone up off the ground and held it to his ear urgently.

"What did you just say?"

"Jim Moriarty," Clara frowned, wondering what the big deal was. The Doctor didn't know him, did he? Or had Sherlock told him everything? He didn't seem like the type to give much away. "Doctor, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing," He mumbled, though Clara could imagine the frown lines that must be developing between his practically non-existent eyebrows. "The name just sounded familiar. But it can't... No, no it's nothing. Although I think I may call over for that visit soon. Very soon. Not too soon, but soon."

"Alright, Chin Boy," Clara raised her eyebrows and checked the time quickly. "Right, my lunch break is nearly over. Don't make me late for work."

"Wouldn't dream of it," The Doctor replied cheerily, his previous suspicions forgotten. "Toodle doo, cheerio!"

The line went dead after the sound of squabbling, probably with the 'little red thing' Clara guessed. She wondered why the Doctor had reacted to Jim's name in such a way. She imagined that if Sherlock had mentioned him, he would have introduced him formally as James Moriarty, and the Doctor wasn't one for watching the human news. He just showed up wherever there were aliens involved and butted in. She shook the thoughts out of her head as she prepared for the lesson, her mood drastically improved by talking to her friend.

She found that the class passed quite quickly and she was grateful that it was the last one she would have to endure before Christmas which was in the next couple of days. She had agreed to have her family over for dinner against her best wishes as this would mean she'd have to cook, which was not her forte. She hauled herself up the flights of stairs to her flat, letting herself in with a relieved sigh.

"Kettle's boiled."

Clara let out a small shriek at the unexpected voice and whipped around to face him. Jim Moriarty was sprawled across her couch with a lazy grin on his smug face.

"Milk, two sugars please."

"Okay," Clara folded her arms across her chest and struggled not to smile too much. "I'm not even going to bother asking how you managed to break into my flat, _again_. But where have you been these last few days?!"

"Why, did you miss me?"

Jim sat up and grinned as Clara retrieved two cups from the cupboard and proceeded to make tea. She couldn't hide her smirk this time and turned to him with a smile.

"Just a bit."

"Well, you know how things are. Busy busy," Jim smiled as Clara handed him his tea and chose to sit next to him on the couch this time instead of situating herself in the chair across from him. "I had to prepare my 'criminal network' as some would call it. But really, it's just a business. Sherlock destroyed my fake one that I planted, but this ones still intact for when I need it."

"And when will you need it?" Clara questioned cautiously, wrapping her fingers around her tea to warm herself from the chill that had started to creep into her bones at his words.

"For when I make my big come back," He raised his eyebrows deviously. "I'm not going to stay dead forever, oh no. Being dead is boring. But I have to wait for the right moment."

"So am I the only person who knows for certain that you're still alive?" Clara smiled slightly as she looked at him.

"Yes, actually," Moriarty mused thoughtfully with a small smile. "The only one I... Trust."

"So I'm just special then," Clara grinned cheekily, giving him a small nudge.

"Yes, you are," Jim looked at her, his eyes searching her face thoughtfully. Clara's heart rate sped up under his intense gaze. "You know," He continued. "There's one more story I know."

"About one of the Doctor's companions?" Clara questioned eagerly, beginning to enjoy hearing the tales.

Jim nodded slowly, staring at the floor as he paused. He turned to look at her, a strange look in his eyes.

"It's the story of the Impossible Girl."

Clara started at his words, the familiar phrase ringing in her head. That was what the Doctor called her, that was what she apparently was as she had jumped into the Doctor's time stream to save his life, splitting herself into a million fragments, a million different versions of her. Not that she could remember any of them. She inched closed to Jim, their knees touching, sending a shock down through Clara. She regained control of her unsteady breathing and nodded at Jim to go on, eyes wide. He knew it was about her.

"She jumped into the Doctor's time stream to save his life," His lilting tone had Clara immediately entranced. "A million versions of her, a million lives, a million memories that she can't recall, scattered across time. She did it to save him."

Jim paused, staring into his untouched tea as Clara remained enthralled.

"But here you are," He whispered, putting his tea down and looking at Clara softly. "The real you. The brave, impossible girl."

Clara's breath caught in her throat as Jim brought his hand up to her face and ran a finger down her cheek gently. She was sure that if her heart beat any harder it would surely burst out of her chest.

"You didn't just save him you know, that wasn't the only life you saved," He murmured, leaning closer. Clara felt trapped by his beautiful deep brown eyes as his hand rested on her cheek lightly. "You saved me too. In so many ways."

He pulled back, allowing his hand to drop to his side but his gaze didn't leave her. Clara felt disappointed as his touch left her, feeling the urge to move closer to him.

"That may or may not be the last of the stories that I know about the Doctor and his companions, depending on if I'm lying or not," He gave a joking frown as his tone turned light again. "I didn't bother to find out any more. I got bored."

"Which story did you like the best?" Clara choked out, taking a quick sip of her tea and hoping he didn't notice the effect he had on her.

"Now that would be telling," Jim smirked, raising his eyebrows and bringing his cup to his lips. "But secrets are boring, so… Yours," He relented with a smile that lit up his whole face and sent Clara's heart fluttering.

"Yeah, my story is pretty great isn't it?" Clara grinned back, setting her tea down. "But yours isn't so bad either. It's sort of dramatic. It might even replace '101 Places to See' as my favourite story."

"I'll have to publish it."

Clara laughed, but her grin soon faded into a more curious expression as she realised something.

"Jim," She began quietly, starting to reach out her hand to hold his out of habit but drawing away at the last minute, worried that he might be startled by the gesture. He still didn't seem used to affection, though Clara loved the feeling of her hand in his. She took a deep breath and continued. "You said I saved your life too, in different ways. What did you mean?"

Jim paused, setting his tea down next to Clara's with a frown as if pondering how to answer. Clara was stunned and couldn't help but smile a little. She had never seen him lost for words before, and he seemed to be struggling to find the right ones now. She had down the impossible and rendered him momentarily speechless.

"Mr Genius is suddenly lost for words?" Clara teased lightly, nudging him softly. Jim snorted, running a hand through his hair. "Explain?" Clara tried again softly.

Jim frowned again, as if wondering how best to expand on his earlier statement. He turned to Clara suddenly, looking at her intently. He reached out unexpectedly, his hand hovering over hers for a tangible moment before he touched her hand gently.

"I just… What's _this_?"

"That's… That's your hand."

"I know," Jim looked down at Clara's hand in his in light amusement. "But why is this... Comforting?"

"Because it makes you feel safe," Clara spoke softly, understanding now what he meant. "It lets us know that we're not alone."

"I've never... Had that before," Jim murmured thoughtfully, his hand still holding Clara's gently. "And I think... I think it would have been a lot harder to get by without that. So you saved me from... From..."

"From being alone," Clara finished for him, finally understanding.

Jim breathed out a tired sigh of confirmation of Clara's words, pulling his hand of of hers gently, to Clara's dismay. She decided not to push him and giving him a quick smile, stood to put the cups back in the kitchen, thinking to herself. He had such an effect on her, it almost scared her, because she had never had anything like that before either. She peeked out to see him sprawled across her couch again and smiled at seeing him look so relaxed.

She bounded over with a grin and threw herself on top of him, much to his surprise. He let out a startled yell as she nearly sent the two of them toppling to the floor.

"You're a bit overly eager, aren't you, Miss Oswald." He smirked as he repositioned himself so Clara could lie of him more comfortably.

"Shut up, Crime Boy," She grinned, swatting at him gently. "I'm just glad you're alright."

"Good," Jim murmured thoughtfully, falling silent for a moment as Clara lay her head on his chest with a contented sigh.

"You said you were away preparing your 'business' for your big return," Clara broke the comfortably silence suddenly, propping her head up so she could look into his eyes. "So you're like, for hire? Like a criminal tradesman?"

"A criminal tradesman," Jim repeated her words in an amused tone and grinned with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "I like that. I suppose you could put it that way. Quite a wanted one too. I'm good at what I do."

"A tradesman," Clara mused, absentmindedly tracing patterns on his shirt as she pondered the phrase. She grinned mischievously suddenly. "But not the sort who'd fix your heating?"

Jim quirked an eyebrow in amusment.

"No, the sort who'd plant a bomb or stage an assassination," He began slowly with a small smirk. "But I'm sure I'd make a good enough job of your boiler."

Clara laughed, nestling her head into the crook of his neck again, feeling more comfortable than ever. Jim brought his arms around her securely, stroking her hair gently.

"Is it strange then, being dead?" She questioned, smirking against his skin.

"You certainly have to be more careful," Jim smirked. "But it's relaxing, to say the least. Nobody ever bothers you when they think you're dead."

"I'm just the plague in your life then, the bane of your existence," Clara grinned jokingly.

"Yes, but at least you're an entertaining little plague."

Clara chuckled contentedly against his neck when his phone buzzed suddenly. He let out an irritated scoff and wriggled slightly to retrieve it from his pocket, bringing it out and glaring at the bright screen. He swore lightly and Clara raised her head with a sigh, pouting slightly.

"You can't stay, can you?"

"Nope. Still dead, remember? I have to be careful."

"Yeah, well you better be careful," Clara rolled off him, allowing him to stand. "Cause I know how dangerous your life is, and I know how bloody reckless you are."

"But you wouldn't have it any other way," Jim grinned mischievously, leaning in quickly and kissing her softly on the cheek, causing her hearty to race.

"It'll be time to storm the castle soon, I hope you'll be ready. Stay safe, Clara Oswald," He gave her a sly smirk, leaving Clara starstruck though she tried to hide it. She touched a hand to her cheek where his lips had been, wondering why she was having these feelings for him. She groaned inwardly. She just _had_ to fall for a criminal psychopath.

His parting words haunted her long after he left, all this talk about _storming a castle_. It was like those riddles again, those fairytales. Now stories, Clara could handle, but she had a feeling that whatever Jim was planning was very real, and even more dangerous.

She didn't sleep well that night, or the night after, constantly thinking about Moriarty and worrying when she heard no word from him. She checked the news fervently for anything out of the ordinary, but there was nothing.

Her consulting criminal had wandered off without a trace, and Clara began to fear that he might be planning to stage his big come back sooner than she expected.

**OK SO IF YOU ARE READING THIS IN THE YEAR 2016, YOU WILL PROBABLY REALISE THAT I CHANGED THE ENDING OF THIS CHAPTER (Or if this is your first time reading it, hey, how're you doing, carry on as you were) THE REASON I DID THIS IS THAT I HAVE DECIDED ON TAKING THIS STORY IN A NEW DIRECTION, AND I LEFT IT FOR SO LONG THAT I THOUGHT I COULD PROBABLY GET AWAY WITH IT. I HOPE THAT'S OKAY WITH YOU. SEE YOU IN THE NEXT CHAPTER GUYS**


	8. Chapter 8

"**ATTENTION! IF YOU ARE READING THIS, (thanks by the way, I'm v flattered that you decided to click on my story) THEN A SMALL WORD OF WARNING, YOU MIGHT WANT TO REREAD THE LAST FEW PARAGRAPHS OF THE PRVIOUS CHAPTER BECAUSE I MADE SOME ALTERATIONS TO STEER THE STORY IN A DIFFERENT DIRECTION, IF THIS IS YOUR FIRST TIME COMING ACROSS THIS STORY THEN YOU SHOULD BE FINE***

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The tranquil silence in the small bedroom was ungracefully broken by a mixture of Clara Oswald's disgruntled, indignant groan and the cause for her distress, her obnoxiously buzzing alarm clock. A few blind, lazy thumps with her palm soon sorted that out.

Or not.

Because it wasn't her alarm clock that was buzzing, she realised as soon as she sat up and fixed the object in question with a puzzled frown. A small crease appeared between her eyebrows as she noted the green digits flashing on the clock. It was 4:27am. No wonder her brain was having troubling catching up with her actions. She cast a searching glance around, her sleep addled mind failing to locate the sound of the incessant buzzing until she finally laid eyes on her phone which lay on the floor a few feet away. Presumably, she had knocked it from its resting perch on her bedside locker to the ground when she had attempted to cease her alarm clock from ringing.

The insistent buzzing stopped momentarily, only to resume again a minute later. Someone really wanted to get a hold of her.

She snatched the mobile from the floor, reclining back onto the bed to blink blearily at the screen. No caller ID. How convenient.

Deciding to bite the bullet, she pressed answer and held the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" She tried, her voice thick with sleep. She cleared her throat.

"Clara Oswald?"

"Yeah?" She sat up a little straighter at the grave, slightly familiar male voice. Whoever he was, he sounded all business. "Who's speaking?"

"This is Inspector Lestrade, I'm sorry to wake you at this time of night but we need you to come down to the station as soon as possible," His voice crackled across the speaker, and Clara's tired brain finally managed to put the voice to the face of the silver-haired policeman who had stormed into 221B when she had been there. "It's urgent."

"I- What?" Clara's eyebrows drew together in confusion. "Why, what's happened?"

"We've got a man in custody and, God knows why, but he's demanding to speak to you," Lestrade's voice sounded as weary as Clara felt. She froze, a feeling of dread seeping into her bones. "Miss Oswald? Are you still there?"

"What man?" She breathed, though she already knew the answer.

"Goes by the name of Jim Moriarty."

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me."

"He's refusing to speak until he sees you," Lestrade sighed heavily. "I hate to put you under this sort of pressure, but will you come?"

"I'll be there in ten," She relented dubiously.

"Thank you."

She hung up, hesitating for a moment before springing into action. What the hell was going on? She grabbed the nearest pair of pants she could find and pulled them on, hurrying to get dressed and whip herself up into some sort of presentable appearance. Her nerves were frazzled, and she was irritated. Not in the best of moods to be answering questions from the police. She wasn't sure Jim had managed to get himself into this time, but it clearly wasn't good.

Scraping her hair back into a short ponytail and applying the minimum amount of makeup required to ensure she didn't look like she'd just come back from the dead, she pulled on her boots and prepared to leave. If the dark circles under her eyes were anything to go by, it was clear she was in desperate need of a coffee, but she decided it would have to wait until later. Right now her first priority was to get to Jim Moriarty.

Deciding she wouldn't have much luck finding a cab at this hour, she opted to take her moped instead, fastening the helmet quickly, her mind drifting back to something the Doctor had once said. _"The helmet looks a bit silly, doesn't it?" _He had scrunched his nose up as he regarded it dubiously. Clara had arched a brow and eyed his exuberant bowtie. _"Safety is not silly, Doctor."_

She was far from safe now, she could feel it. She had gotten herself into something big, something _bad, _and she wasn't sure there was a way out of it anymore. The journey to Scotland Yard was shorted than usual due to the lack of traffic on the road, something which she was grateful for, though in a way she didn't feel quite ready to face whatever awaited her yet. Parking her moped and unclasping her helmet, she strode forward defiantly, pushing any concerns to the furthermost regions of her mind. Now was not the time to worry. She could do that later.

She spotted Lestrade as soon as she entered the building, and he looked just as haggard as she expected. She waved a hand in greeting as he noticed her and approached.

"Thank God you're here," The bags under his eyes were far worse than Clara's and he ran a hand through his hair in agitation. "It was a last resort, calling you, but he's not complying. We just don't know what to make of the whole situation. I mean, the man's meant to be dead, for Christ sake! Here, this way."

She followed him past multiple people, some engrossed in arguments, some holding clipboards and coffee, the scent of which wafted over to Clara enticingly.

"What happened, then?" She quizzed, genuinely curious. "How did you manage to get a dead man into custody?"

"Funny story, actually," Lestrade scratched the back of his neck, perplexed. "We didn't."

"Well, there's a surprise," Clara muttered under her breath, too low for Lestrade to hear properly. Of course Jim Moriarty would have some roundabout way of doing things. "If you didn't arrest him, then why's he here?"

"I… Don't know," Lestrade admitted after a loaded pause. "He was waiting for us when we got here. And as for _how_ he got in, I haven't the foggiest. He made a good job of wiping out the CCTV. We've called Sherlock, but he hasn't got here yet. I don't know what's keeping him. Probably his own ego holding him hostage."

Clara snorted at the comment but her smile faded quickly when Lestrade motioned at her, indicating that they were here. He pushed the door open and Clara followed him, uncertain as to what she might find.

Jim Moriarty sat handcuffed to a desk in the middle of the small interrogation room with the smuggest smirk on his face that Clara had ever witnessed on any living human. A man leaned with his fingers pressed against the desk, his back to Clara as he stared at Moriarty, but he turned to see the newcomers as they walked in.

"Nice of you to join the party, Miss Oswald," Jim drawled sardonically.

"This is her?" The tall, thin man with the exasperated disposition who was unfamiliar to Clara raised an eyebrow in her direction.

"Yeah, this is her," Lestrade confirmed gruffly.

"And what's so special about _her, _that you'll only speak to this woman?" The man glanced from Clara to Moriarty sceptically. Clara crossed her arms defiantly and answered before Jim could get a word out.

"I'm not boring. He likes that," She held a hand out to the man to shake. "Clara Oswald."

The man eyed her hand for a moment, his face scrunching up with barely concealed discomfort as he forced a smile onto his face, holding his chin high and electing to ignore her outstretched hand.

"Mycroft Holmes," He retorted curtly in his refined accent, brushing down his pristine suit.

"Holmes?" Clara blinked. "You mean like-"

"He's Sherlock's brother," Lestrade interjected from somewhere behind her.

"Yes, unfortunately," Mycroft replied in a light tone, the same fake smile plastered onto his face as though it pained him to show such a trivial display of emotion. "Well, if we could just get back to the matter at hand-"

"Alone," Moriarty sang, closing his eyes and leaning back languidly. Mycroft narrowed his eyes.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm speaking to her _alone,_" Jim emphasised, his tone turning acidic.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," Mycroft replied formally, eyeing Moriarty with suspicion. Clara took a step forward.

"Actually, it will," She lifted a brow. "This is why you brought me here, right? To speak to him? Well then, let me speak to him."

"Clara, I don't think you quite comprehend the severity of this situation-" Mycroft began, but Clara cut him off.

"Oh, I comprehend a lot more than you think, Mr Holmes," She replied fiercely. "Let me speak to him. Please."

There was a tense pause, in which Clara's heart threatened to break through the walls of her chest and Mycroft glared at her intensely. Finally, after a moment of apparent deliberation, he relaxed. Or at least, let it look that way.

"Very well," He smiled blandly. "Lestrade, have two guards man the door while we step outside. You have five minutes, Miss Oswald."

"Make it seven," She called over her shoulder as he retreated from the room with Lestrade in tow.

"Don't test me, Clara," He replied curtly, giving her one last warning glare before closing the door shut behind him. Clara breathed a sigh of relief and sat down in the chair across from Jim, who still had his eyes drifted shut as if lost in some pleasant dream.

"Hey!" Clara leaned across the table and snapped her fingers in front of his face, snapping him out of his reverie. "What the hell are you playing at?"

"It's the next step in the game," Jim leaned forward, clenching and unclenching his fists in anticipation, his eye alight with childish glee. "Don't you see?"

"What I see, is an idiot in handcuffs," Clara snapped, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms again. "Why am I here, Jim? Why are _you_ here for that matter?"

"I can see you're not a morning person," He issued her with a conceited smirk, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

"And you _are_ a morning person, I suppose?" Clara huffed exasperatedly, trying not to pout, feeling extremely vexed due to her lack of sleep.

"Darling, I'm barely even a person," Jim rested his chin in his hands and stared at her with delight.

"Jim Moriarty, if you don't tell me what's going on right now-"

"Can I give you some advice," Jim fidgeted and straightened up in his seat, his face suddenly devoid of all humour. Clara pursed her lips.

"Absolutely not."

"If you're not willing to get into a bit of trouble," Jim carried on anyway in a theatrical whisper, eyes wide and earnest. "_Don't get involved_."

"What's that supposed to mean, you daft palm tree?"

Jim blinked with a bemused expression, completely and utterly taken aback by her comment. Clara took his brief moment of speechlessness as a silent victory.

"What does _that_ mean?" He choked, lips curved downwards in a frown, his nose crinkling in confusion.

"It means," Clara hissed, leaning forward and widening her eyes dramatically. _"That you're acting shady."_

"Honestly, Clara, who writes your stuff?" Jim shook his head incredulously and Clara opted to ignore his snide remark. She tilted her head to the side, surveying him properly. He looked calm, and surprisingly awake considering the time, which was more than what she could say for herself. His hair was a little dishevelled, but apart from that, everything was in place, his jet black suit utterly pristine. There had definitely been no struggle. He had planned to be here. Just like he planned everything down to every last microscopic detail. She raised an eyebrow at his black suit.

"Who's funeral is it?" She remarked wryly.

"I haven't decided yet."

How could she have not seen that one coming? She sighed.

"You're here because you want to be," She mashed her lips into a firm line, scrutinising him. "You're an old dog and that's you're old trick."

"I do tend to…" Jim tapped his dextrous fingers on the desk in a short, sharp, uneven rhythm. "Circumvent the rules a bit, I'll admit."

"And where do I come in in this little plan of yours, huh?" Clara folded her hands on the desk in front of her. "Don't tell me I'm your, I dunno, accomplice or something. That's not how this works."

"Who said you can rewrite the rules of the game?" Moriarty smirked, eyeing her devilishly. "It's too late for any of that now. The operation is in full swing," He sang the last line contentedly.

Clara bit her lip. She needed to figure out what he was planning, but she couldn't get a straight answer out of the man.

"Whatever you're thinking, don't. Violence leads to more violence."

"I know, it's a win-win situation."

"Ugh, shut up!" She huffed, irked at his lack of cooperation.

"Let's not get side tracked," Jim tugged at the shackles on his wrists with an arched brow, the same smug expression dancing around his features. "Once I'm out of these, we can get on with the hostage situation."

"The _what_?!"

"Oh, don't panic, you'll be fine," Jim rolled his eyes and stretched his neck lazily. "Just remember your training."

"I don't have any training!"

"Then just follow your instinct."

"My _instinct_ is to punch you right in the face!" Clara hissed in a low hush, straining not to raise her voice as her temper flared. "You can't do this!"

"Oh, _I'm sorry_," Jim drawled sarcastically, glaring at her obstinately. "I think you're confusing me with someone with remorse."

Clara squeezed her eyes shut and pinched the bridge of her nose, resting her elbows on the desk.

"This is going to be a _long_ day."

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**Sorry about the disgracefully long wait, we all do things we're not proud of! **

**Next chapter will hopefully be up within the week, it's time I got up off my arse and started writing properly again!**

**I was watching loads of Moriarty tribute videos on youtube to get myself in the zone for the story, does anyone else do that when they're writing characters? It actually helps so much :O **

**And sometimes a certain song just goes so well with a certain character, don't you think? :D What song do you think best suits Moriarty? I'm thinking Mad Hatter by Melanie Martinez, but there's really so many! :D **

**Anyway, I hope this was worth it, thanks for reading! :D**


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm going to be updating more frequently from now on, I hope you're still enjoying the story :D Here's where things really start to get interesting ;)**

**Happy reading!**

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Clara's phone buzzed in her jacket pocket and her fingers flexed instinctively to reach for it, but she quickly halted her actions and refrained from doing so. Moriarty's piercing eyes were boring into her, and she felt as if she was under intense scrutiny. He was like a ticking time bomb, one false move and she was dead.

She stood and maneuvered herself around to perch on the side of the desk, his eyes following her every move with silent laughter. Biting the bullet and swallowing her terror, she stared him directly in the eye.

"Why don't you tell me just what you think you're doing then, hm?" She arched an eyebrow delicately, trying to decide how to pose a question in a way that would evoke a coherent answer from the riddle-loving maniac. "I think I should be in on this little game of yours if I'm going to play along. So tell me. What's all this about?"

Abruptly, Jim pushed back from the table as far as his restraints would allow, the metal legs of the chair scraping across the floor with an unpleasant grating sound. He grimaced theatrically, hissing through his bared teeth.

"What was it curiosity killed again?" He mused thoughtfully, face contorting in feigned confusion as if trying against all the odds to grasp at the answer. "I can't quite recall. C- C- … Definitely something beginning with _C_."

Clara glowered at him indignantly, realising that he was referring to her name. The ball was in his court, and now he was refusing to play along. It frustrated her beyond belief. But still, she knew that there was someone there behind the cold, deadly mask he had fixed in place, someone who was just a little bit more human. She was determined to uncover that person. She opted to resort to sarcasm to try and extract the answer from him.

"Well, if your plan was to kill me off, you're certainly going about it the right way," She shrugged nonchalantly, tapping the desk with her fingernail, irked at his continuous lack of cooperation. "Lure me here, refuse to enlighten me on the situation and wait for me to die of boredom."

Jim's raised his eyes towards the ceiling with a lazy smile.

"Oh come now, Clara, you deserve so much better than a boring death like that. Something a tad more spectacular, like mine or Sherlock's."

"You're both still alive."

"I know, I know. I live, I die… I live _again_," Jim winced through clenched teeth with an over exaggerated squint. "It's such a vicious cycle, isn't it? Interesting thing though, death… You can have so many thoughts whizzing around in there," He tapped his head and trailed off thoughtfully before pulling a disgusted face. "And then you pull the trigger and your mind just goes… _Blank_."

Clara swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly feeling like cotton as she thought back to the tale of events that Sherlock had described to her regarding Moriarty's alleged '_death'_.

"You're always playing games, aren't you?" She whispered tersely, trying to figure him out. "Why are you always playing games?"

"Oh, honey, I'm only getting started," Moriarty bared his teeth in a sinister grin. Clara tried not to shrink away, adamant not to show weakness. Moriarty didn't approve of weakness.

But the opposite of weakness was strength. The man sitting in front of her with the smug expression of a contented cat valued control and power more than anything. She had to demonstrate those qualities if she had any hope of winning the game.

"Fine," She clicked her fingers decisively. "Let's play a game. A guessing game. You give me the pieces and I put the puzzle together."

"Carry on," A slow smile began to creep across Jim's face, intrigue flashing in his eyes.

"Right," Clara paused, inhaling steadily. She had to be careful here, cautious. She had to work with what she knew, and right now she didn't have much to go on. "First thing's first. You're sitting here in a police station, handcuffed and under supervision, but you weren't arrested. You got here all by yourself. And if there's anything that spending time with you has taught me, it's that you always have a reason for what you do."

"Good, good, but easily deduced," Jim laced his fingers together in front of him and leaned back, staring up at her. "There's always madness to my method, you know that well. So why am I here?"

"Because…" Clara bit her lip. The answer to that was simple enough, though the question that she knew was sure to follow was a different story entirely. "Because there's something here that you want."

"Which is?" The criminal prompted, eyes wide in anticipation. He tapped the desk insistently in a fervent, distorted rhythm. "Come _on_, Clara, _focus_!"

Clara jumped, startled as he voiced the last word in a sharp shout designed to unnerve her. Her thoughts began to race. What did he want? What the hell could someone like him, someone without a care in the world, desire? Why on Earth was a man presumed to be dead sitting in a police station with an air of unshakable, unwavering confidence?

"Publicity," Clara exclaimed suddenly, clapping her hands together with a snap. "Making a surprise appearance in the place you're most likely not to be found? This is your big comeback. Or part of it at least. This is the start of something big."

"Not bad," He nodded slowly, and Clara didn't fail to notice that he almost looked impressed. "But that prompts the question…?"

Clara pondered as he trailed off, finally coming to the gut-wrenching conclusion that she was here for a reason. One that she might not like.

"Why am I here, Jim?" She appealed simply, her efforts only lackluster now. She was beginning to feel out of her depth, ominous dread settling in the pit of her stomach, twisting and writhing uncomfortably.

"You're here to prove to me that you _deserve_ to be," Jim's eyes widened earnestly. "The moment you become a liability, I'll be forced to.." He hesitated and puffed out a sharp huff of breath loudly with a slight shake of his head. "… Snuff you out."

His carefree, lilting tone in conjunction with the deadly words instilled more dread in Clara than she had ever felt in his presence before. She was sure she could worm her way out of this one, though.

"Like I said when I first met you," She jutted out her chin defiantly. "You can't tell stories to someone that's dead."

Moriarty's grin was slow and cold, his eyes crinkling at the corners with mirth. He clicked his tongue sharply and tutted.

"When a person dies, Clara," His voice was so soft and low that Clara had to instinctively lean in closer just to catch what he was saying. "Their hearing is the last thing to go."

For a split second, Clara froze with fear, her heart thudding in her ears. Then she snapped.

"Fine!" She spat in defiance, pushing back from the desk again as her temper flared. "Go on, then, get on with it! Kill me!"

"Brave," Jim purred, lifting a brow in mild surprise at her outburst. Clara barked out a humorless laugh, her eyes wide incredulously.

"Oh no, not brave. I'm bloody terrified," She laughed, exhaling swiftly. "But that doesn't matter. Because you know what? You're not gunna kill me. You've had too many opportunities to do that by now for it to still be a possibility."

"Are you calling my bluff?" Jim's eyes narrowed dangerously, a deadly glint visible in them.

"Yeah," Clara breathed, feeling a rush of adrenaline course through her veins. She grinned suddenly, elation flooding her at her realisation. "Yeah, I am. 'Cause you _can't_ kill me, can you? I'm your weakness, Jim. And doesn't that just _terrify_ you?"

Jim's eyes turned to cold stone, all traces of amusement drained from his face. He glared at her, jaw set angrily. A moment of silence hung in the air between them, thick with tension.

"That's quite a wild accusation," Moriarty murmured darkly, his icy eyes boring into her as his voice took on a lethal tone. "Are you willing to bet your life on it?"

"Absolutely," Clara forced out through gritted teeth before she lost her nerve.

Moriarty's face remained vacant and unreadable for another achingly painful second, before he hummed softly and raised his eyebrows. Clara watched as something shifted in his expression, she could almost see the cogs in his brain turning. His sharp, abrupt laughter rang out around the room.

"That's it, though, that's what I was waiting for," He grinned widely, clenching his fists. "There's that spark, that _fire_ that I know and love."

"Excuse me?" Clara scoffed, folding her arms and staring at him in disbelief.

"I think you're ready," He smirked, drawing back and delving into his pocket for a moment. Shifting his position so as to gain better access to the contents in spite of the handcuffs, he retrieved a small metal object and tossed it to Clara. She lunged and caught it with a gasp of surprise. It was like being back in the Tardis with the Doctor all over again, the excitable Time Lord throwing his sonic screwdriver at her in a life or death situation.

"What's this?" She squinted and examined the object carefully, turning it over in her hands. It was small and flat, and one green light blinked on it every second or so. The shape of it indicated that it was designed to slot into something, though what that something was, she hadn't the slightest idea.

"One might say it's the opposite of a secret weapon," Jim drawled evasively.

Clara paused, mouth slightly agape as she pondered.

"… A _not_ secret weapon?"

"_No_, Clara," Jim scoffed impatiently. "Something that _disables_ a secret weapon."

"_Oh_," Clara exclaimed with a light laugh, before a sudden thought struck her. She gawped at Jim. "Wait- You're not saying what I think you're saying, are you?"

Before the consulting criminal had the opportunity to answer, the door behind her burst open and she whipped around to see Lestrade with an expression of acute horror etched onto his face. He brandished his phone at Clara wildly and pointed at it.

"Have you seen this?" He boomed, looking over her shoulder to glare at Moriarty. "This is your doing, I suppose?"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about," Jim leaned back with a nonchalant shrug and a lazy smile, his eyes drifting over to Clara to gauge her reaction.

"I'm guessing you haven't checked your phone then," Lestrade addressed Clara and sighed as she snatched his mobile from him and stared at the screen. "Mycroft's on the phone to his brother right now. I never thought I'd say this, but the sooner Sherlock gets here the better. Every phone, every tv, every computer screen in the country, he's- He's got them all."

Lestrade's voice sounded smaller than before, and Clara looked up at the detective's lost expression in shock at what she had seen. Shoving his phone back into his hands, she stuffed her trembling hand into her pocket and pulled out her own phone, which she had elected to ignore earlier.

There it was on the screen, clear as day, Jim Moriarty's face staring back at her with the words _'Did you miss me?' _scrawled in bold across the picture, flashing manically. She pressed the screen frantically, but the image refused to disappear. She had no control over her phone. Clara's blood seemed to freeze and turn to ice in her veins.

"This," She breathed shakily, turning back to Moriarty and holding out the phone to him. "This is it, isn't it? Your big comeback."

"It's time to take back the crown," Jim smirked coldly. He stood suddenly, and Clara's eyes widened as her gaze trailed down to his hands and realised that they were no longer encased in the cuffs.

"How did you-"

"Oh, don't be silly, I've weaseled my way out of trickier situations than this, do you really think a pair of shiny handcuffs are going to stop me? I admire the sentiment really, but…"

The edges of his mouth pulled down in a strained frown. Clara took a wary step back, eyes narrowed as she glared at Moriarty.

"Bloody hell-" Lestrade huffed in frustration and called over his shoulder to a few officers outside the room. He turned back to face Moriarty again, mouth agape. Clara glanced at the Inspector briefly.

"Um, you probably should've stopped him from doing that," She nodded towards the set of handcuffs lying discarded on the desk.

"If I actually knew _how_ he did it, I'd have stopped him," Lestrade sighed resignedly. "Honestly, I need a raise. Actually no, scratch that, I need a _drink_. I'm calling Mycroft, he needs to get back here. Hopefully Sherlock's ready to join us."

"Excellent, the more the merrier," Moriarty sang as he edged around the desk slowly, reminding Clara of a dangerous predator.

"Clara, time to leave," Lestrade's eyes were fixed on Moriarty gravely as a few officers unfamiliar to Clara appeared behind him. "_Now_."

"I'm not going anywhere!" She snapped incredulously. "I'm involved in this now, I can't just leave!"

"Clara, I'm not leaving you here with him! Now, come with me, or I shall arrest you too."

"You'd really do that?" Clara blinked. Lestrade shrugged.

"If that's what it takes to keep you away from him, then yes."

"She's right, you know," Moriarty lolled his head back, stretching his neck languidly. "She's a lot more involved than you think."

"What do you mean?" Clara and Lestrade chorused simultaneously, Clara's tone defensive and Lestrade's hopelessly confused.

"Oh, _me_?" Jim gestured at himself in mock surprise and laughed. "Nothing, nothing, don't worry. I'm just talking about the bomb."

"The _what_?!" Clara yelped.

"Sorry, did I say bomb?" Jim frowned as if perplexed and closed his eyes, a hand to his forehead with a rueful smile. "Sorry, sorry, scratch that, I mean to say bombs. Plural."

"Jim Moriarty, _what do you mean bombs_?" Clara growled through clenched teeth.

"Oh you know, the one tucked away snugly under this station ready to explode at a moment's notice," Jim smiled brightly and shrugged. "And then there's that other one… And that's where _you_ come in, Clara."

"What are you talking about?" She breathed, voice barely above a whisper.

"Haven't you figured it out yet?" He cocked his head to the side as he approached steadily, his voice lilting and mocking. "I'm giving you an offer you can't possibly refuse. I always did like shiny things."

He paused and inclined his head towards the device in Clara's hand. She gasped, piecing two and two together.

"This- It disables the bombs!"

"Ah ah _ah_, don't get ahead of yourself, Miss Oswald, _no_," Moriarty began to pace, wagging his finger at her in a chiding manner. "One bomb. Just the one. My generosity knows no bounds, but even I can only stretch so far."

"You want me to choose," Clara stared at him in horror, unnerved to discover that she was trembling slightly. "Jim, where- Where's the other bomb?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out," Jim tapped the side of his nose with a sadistic smirk. "This is where the fun really begins."

"This is not happening," Lestrade groaned, snapping his fingers at Clara. "Come on. You, out. Now. Spend any more time with this psychopath and you'll end up losing your mind as well."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Jim smiled slyly. Clara ignored him and looked at Lestrade appealingly.

"I can't leave, not now," She shook her head adamantly. "Can't I just stay here?"

"Not really, no!" Lestrade yelled, and Clara could tell he was at his wits end.

"There's people lives at stake, and if I don't find out what the hell all this is about, people are going to die!" Clara rarely shouted unless she really had to, but she found that raising her voice was necessary to emphasize her point here. "Go. Do what you have to do. I'll be fine."

Lestrade shook his head slowly, his jaw clenched unhappily but his hands were tied and they all knew it.

"I'm going to evacuate the building," He motioned to the other police officers to follow suit finally and then pointed at Clara and Jim. "Don't move. Not a step, you understand?"

"Oh, I'm not going anywhere," Moriarty smiled cruelly as Lestrade started off down the hallway at a sprint. "I wouldn't want to miss the show."

"This is not happening," Clara groaned, clenching her eyes shut for a moment as if it would make all this go away.

"Resorting to denial already, are we? It's a little early in the day for that, isn't it?" Jim nodded towards the clock on the wall. It was nearly 5am. Clara felt panic begin to rise in her throat.

"You can't expect me to do this," She raised her voice in indignation. "How am I supposed to figure out where the other bomb is?"

"Time's running out," Moriarty's eyes glinted smugly, blatantly avoiding her question. "Tick tock."

* * *

**Tick tock! Bit of suspense is good for the soul as they say… Well, maybe not.**

**I'm re-watching The Abominable Bride, it's so good :D Moriarty is amazing in it, but I'm still confused as to whether he's actually really dead.**

**What are your thoughts on it? Do you think he's really dead?**

**So anyway I hoped you enjoyed this chapter! Next one will be up soon I promise **** Thanks for reading!**


	10. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10 IS HEREEEE! **

**So anyway, here's a dramatic chapter, I had intense feels writing it omg, and I CAN'T THANK YOU GUYS ENOUGH FOR ALL THE AMAZING REVIEWS! 99 I MEAN WOW THANK YOU SO MUCH!**

**Hope you enjoy this chapter, happy reading!**

* * *

Stony silence had tersely occupied the quiet room for what felt like hours, but even years spent travelling in the Tardis hadn't quite managed to warp her concept of time so effectively that she wasn't able to decipher that it had to have only been mere minutes since the bombshell had been dropped. Clara winced at the select choice of words in her internal monologue.

She had been left alone with the conniving criminal since the invidious man in question had fervently insisted that Lestrade keep everyone except for her out of the room unless the detective inspector wished to be _'instantaneously blown up into more pieces than all the King's horses and all the King's men could ever hope of putting back together.'_

The conceited serial killer hadn't uttered a word since his questionable demand, and Clara knew better than to prompt him for an answer. So instead she remained stubbornly silent, subtly trying to resist the tempting urge to punch him in the jaw.

That was when the singing began.

"_Hickory dickory dock,_

_The mouse ran up the clock,_

_The clock struck one,_

_The game's begun,_

_Hickory dickory dock,"_ Moriarty sang softly, a sharp edge to his lilting tone that was just short of tangible. Clara didn't fail to pick up on the slight change of profound lyrics and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously, refraining from giving an audible answer no matter how much she wanted to yell at him to stop being so bloody ridiculous. Jim puffed out his cheeks and widened his eyes dramatically before exhaling in an abrupt, loud huff. He slammed his hands down on the table suddenly and Clara jumped at the harsh snap. She had almost forgotten what an irascible disposition the man could have.

"Come on, Clara, don't be tedious," He drawled derisively, his voice teetering on impatience. Clara clenched her teeth adamantly and continued to glower at him. Jim's face morphed into a mocking expression that mirrored his frivolous behaviour. "You can't just glare at someone and expect them to fall in love with you. No, you have to _earn_ that."

Clara resisted the urge to roll her eyes at his acerbic wit. It didn't help that she had to constantly remind herself that she was supposed to be angry with him. His wily behaviour proved difficult not to enjoy to a certain extent.

"And you can't seduce me with your notorious ability to destroy people's lives!" She retorted finally, wincing inwardly at how easily he had managed to rile her up and get a reaction out of her. Jim hummed good-naturedly, a delicate smile illuminating his face.

"Here's another fairytale for you," He flexed his fingers and leaned back in the chair he was sprawled across, swinging his legs up onto the desk lazily. "Once upon a time you weren't such a boring, ordinary little person like the rest of them. Come _on,_ Clara get your head in the game!"

"I'm not going to be part of your insane scheme!" Clara hissed in undefiled outrage, and this time she was the one to slam her hands down on the table in a virile manner. "We're not Bonnie and Clyde!"

The corners of Jim's mouth curved down thoughtfully as he considered her brusque outburst, his dark eyes pensive. His nimble fingers tapped his temple lightly.

"I was thinking more along the lines of the Joker and Harley."

"That's not- I'm- You- Ugh! That's not the point!" Clara threw her hands up in exasperation at the reprobate man. Jim shrugged flippantly, unaffected by her words.

"_Hickory dickory dock,_

_The mouse ran up the clock,_

_The clock struck two_

_Will Clara see it through?_

_Hickory dickory dock."_

Clara was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet now in pent up anger and nervous energy. A spark of worry and panic shot through her like a white hot electric current, painting her cheeks with a faint blush. She was running out of time, that fact was probably the only thing Moriarty was making clear.

"Alright, Brown Eyes," She leaned towards him, resting her palms on the desk for support. "I get it, you're excited because you've got some ingeniously evil masterplan going on, _why am I here?_"

"You know full well why you're here," Moriarty's eyes turned cold and calculating. "Tread softly, Clara. All this chitchat might get you in trouble."

Clara bit her lip anxiously, as if the solution to her current predicament lay somewhere underneath the soft flesh.

"Shut up! No, don't. Tell me your plan. Tell me where the bloody bomb is."

"That's _cheating_, Clara," Moriarty whined childishly, briefly reminding Clara of the kids she used babysit. "Why can't you just play along? Honestly, what is your problem?"

"I'm glad you asked," Clara huffed incredulously, straightening up and folding her arms. Looking down at him now, she felt more in control, albeit a little. "Because I have quite a few right now and _you're_ the root cause of most of them. Because-"

"I think you're overreacting-"

"No_, listen_. Look at me. Look. At. Me. Do I look like I'm in my favourite comfy pyjamas right now? No. Do you know why? Because I'm here. _Here_. At 5:00 am. Freezing. Tired. And quite frankly annoyed beyond belief. All because of you."

Jim plucked a pen from the table and popped it into his mouth, chewing on the tip irritably.

"Now now, don't cry over spilt milk, Clara, it's awfully unbecoming of you."

Clara squeezed her eyes tightly shut, needing to block out everything just for one blissful moment. She had to think. There was no Doctor here, not this time. This time it was up to her to save the day. The pressure resting heavily on the shoulders was as liberating as it was a burden. A small part of her stirred in anticipation at the opportunity to prove herself, to laugh in the face of danger and save the world against all the odds.

_We don't walk away._

No one was going to die tonight, not on Clara's watch.

"Why here?" She snapped open her eyes and stared at Jim, scrutinizing him. If she was going to have any chance of winning this game, she had to play by his rules. It was time to get a move on and start deducing. "Huh? Why here? How did you even get in here?"

"I don't need a key to enter a locked room, Clara. Gaining access to places I shouldn't be is practically standard procedure for me."

"Well, judging by the amount of times you've probably broken into my flat I suppose it's not that farfetched," Clara inclined her head slowly in reluctant agreement. Jim grinned, the pen clasped securely between his bared teeth.

"Well you can't blame me, you _are_ always away," He mumbled, taking the biro out of his mouth and smirking at her. "Busy busy little bee."

"Think, Clara, _think_," She groaned, resisting the urge to chew her fingernails anxiously as she strained to formulate an answer.

"Now I'm going to play _devil's_ advocate here," Moriarty coughed loudly, and Clara frowned in confusion as the obvious display of emphasis on the word. Was that a clue? What could it mean? "-Aaand assume that nearly everyone in London is going to die as _you're not hurrying the hell up_."

"Shut up shut up shut up!"

"I'm sorry is my callous ruthlessness distracting you?"

"I need…" Clara hadn't even noticed that she had begun to pace, wringing her hands in agitation. "I need to think."

"_Hickory dickory dock,_

_The mouse ran up the clock,_

_The clock struck three_

_All hands point to me,_

_Hickory dickory dock."_

Clara froze, stopping in her tracks and pivoting on her heel, one finger poised in mid-air as she tried to grasp at the clue.

"What… What does that mean?" She breathed softly, realising that he was giving her clues, and obvious ones at that. After all, the game was no fun if it was a guaranteed win for him. "Something… It's got to mean something."

Jim let out a dark chuckle.

"It's on the tip of your tongue isn't it?" He whispered, prodding his own tongue with the tip of the pen. "The _answer_."

"One, two, three…" She murmured in a low atone, her eyebrows furrowing as she attempted to piece the fragments of the puzzle together, scrambling for purchase.

"The clock struck _four_, Clara's a _bore_," Jim intervened in a lilting sing-song tone. "Hickory dickory _dock_."

"How- How long do I have?" Clara breathed, trying not to let the fear seep into her voice as a startling realisation took shape in her mind. "This is a game, it's got to end sometime, even if I lose. If I run out of time, it's going to automatically detonate, isn't it? So when's this bomb set to go off?"

"Clever deduction," Jim purred, his dark eyes glinting with mirth. He appeared to be impressed. Clara tried not to feel flattered. "It's an offer you just can't refuse, isn't it?"

She tapped her foot impatiently, her palms breaking out in a cold sweat.

"Tell me."

"Thirty minutes."

"_What?!"_

"Well you did ask. Let's be realistic here. I know I'm renowned for my generosity, but even I can only stretch so far."

Clara balked visibly, her hands trembling as she wiped them subtly on her pants and attempted to regain her composure.

"You're mad, this is mad-"

"Madness, brilliance…" Jim's lazy smile didn't reach his eyes. "It truly is remarkable how often those traits coincide."

Clara held a hand to her head, suddenly feeling faint.

"Thirty- Thirty minutes-"

"What's wrong, Clara?" Jim popped the pen back into his mouth and spoke around it in an almost incomprehensible slur. "Bit off more than you can chew?"

His abrupt laughter bordered on manic.

"_Hickory dickory dock_

_The mouse ran up the clock,_

_The clock struck five_

_No one's getting out alive,_

_Hickory dickory dock-_ Whoa, whoa, easy tiger!"

Clara had walked briskly around the table to his die of the desk and grabbed his face to snap him out of his song, a firm palm cupping either cheek. Jim looked at her with wide eyes, the pen dropping from his hand to the desk with a soft clatter as he unclenched his fist.

"What am I to you, Jim?" She whispered, her eyes searching his imploringly. "What am I?"

Jim cleared his throat and widened his eyes a little, squirming slightly.

"Well, um, now is not the time for an existential crisis, Clara, shouldn't you be worrying about more important things-"

"Shh!" She shushed him sternly, narrowing her eyes and analysing him. He relaxed slightly and ceased fidgeting, and Clara loosened her grip on him a fraction, her hands resting against his face more gently. Something shifted in Jim's expression, and what Clara saw in his eyes was unidentifiable, but it wasn't malice, it wasn't rage, and it wasn't insanity- Well, maybe just a little. Whatever she saw there, it gave her hope.

"What about our story?" She whispered, inching closer. Jim blinked, his face blank.

"What?" He murmured, his eyes darting across her face as if trying and failing to deduce what she was thinking. She could tell it frustrated him, but it also intrigued him.

"You've told me all these stories, but really I'm only interest in one," Her heart thudded in her chest as Jim's hands came up to circle her wrists gently, though he didn't remove her hands from his face. Feeling a surge of courage, she stroked a thumb across his cheek softly and his eyelids fluttered shut. "Our story. Tell me about _our_ story, because quite frankly it's the only one I really care about. Is it… Is it a sad one?"

The last few words came out barely above a whisper, but she knew Jim heard them. She felt as if an entire aviary was trying to fight its way out of her chest, little wings beating in rhythm with her heart as she remained transfixed, staring into Jim Moriarty's eyes.

"I…" His voice faltered and he fell silent for once, and though Clara knew she should treat this as a slight victory, a dull, profound ache has settled in her chest and she couldn't shake it. She was falling, falling falling falling, entangled in the convoluted web of the spider, the consulting criminal, and she could see no way out. And the worst thing? She was happy right where she was.

Jim cleared his throat and shut his eyes, inhaling deeply before opening them again to look at her.

"I don't know," He replied simply. "Haven't a clue."

Clara cracked a half smile.

"Me either."

An array of heavy footsteps outside the door snapped the duo out of their reverie, and Clara remembered that she was still supposed to be angry with him.

"I ought to slap you right now!" She stood up quickly, silently berating herself for her moment of weakness. Trust her to fall for a madman. He was toxic, but utterly addictive at the same time. "I'm still angry. I'm aggressively angry. Just so you know."

Jim grinned widely at her as the door burst open and Clara blinked in surprise, glancing up just in time to see Sherlock Holmes storm into the room, his long coat billowing around his knees.

"Look at you," She cooed before she could stop herself, looking him up and down, ninety percent sure that the long coat was just for dramatic flair. "All you're missing is the deerstalker."

"Clara, do make sure to wear matching socks before you decide to comment on my appearance," Sherlock replied breezily, looking straight past her towards Moriarty who was now standing. Clara looked down at her odd socks in dismay, silently cursing Sherlock's infallible deductive skills. "You," The detective stopped in his tracks and glared at a beaming Moriarty. "You're supposed to be dead. Whilst taking the term _'If you want something done right, do it yourself'_, quite literally, if I recall correctly."

"Yes, well," Moriarty grimaced theatrically with an almighty shrug of his shoulders as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "It appears that reports of my death were greatly over exaggerated."

"I knew it!" John had entered the room, juggling a laptop and a styrofoam cup of coffee. "I told you, Sherlock, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Moriarty's still up and about."

"Yes, well it wouldn't take an _ape _to deduce that, considering he's standing right in front of us," Sherlock narrowed his eyes, though he didn't appear too appalled. "Very much alive."

Clara moved to stand beside John as he place the laptop on the table, peered over his shoulder to see the video that was playing. It seemed to be a news report, and she gasped when she saw Moriarty's face plastering various billboards in London. He'd definitely got the publicity he wanted, that was for sure.

"Um, Sherlock?" Lestrade had appeared in the doorway, presumably having evacuated the building, looking slightly sheepish. "Can I, uh, arrest him properly now?"

"I'm going to elect to ignore that question, Lestrade, I'd expect that level of idiocy from the likes of Anderson, not you," Sherlock waved a hand at him dismissively, neglecting to even look at the detective, his hawkish eyes trained on Moriarty. "How?" He hissed, taking a calculated step forward in awe. "How did you do it? Your brain almost rivalled mine, until you splattered it all over the concrete. Only you didn't, did you? You couldn't have."

"Uh, boys?" Clara called, an eyebrow raised as she cleared her throat. "Chitchat can wait. We've got a problem here. A bomb shaped problem."

"Yes, I tried to tell him that," Lestrade rolled his eyes and gestured to Sherlock with a weary shake of his head.

"Yes, I really am _so_ pleased that you could all join in the fun," Moriarty smirked cynically. He clapped his hands together with a sharp snap. "Get your thinking cap on, Clara. _The clock's struck six, it's a whole new bag of tricks, hickory dickory dock._"

"What the bloody hell is he on about?" John squinted in intense confusion.

"Masterplan. Speaking in riddles. We're all doomed," Clara quipped curtly with a shrug.

"Blimey. Sorry I asked."

Clara directed her attention to Moriarty once again, issuing him with a glare. She eyed the clock warily, seeing that it was 5:10am and trying not to think about how little time they had left.

"Would it physically pain you to hold back those vague riddles?" She snapped, her exasperation getting the better of her.

"You might not be around to find out. Tick tock, tick tock."

Clara let out an audible groan, resisting the urge to pull her hair out in frustration. She turned back to the laptop monitor as John and Lestrade bickered and Sherlock muttered to himself, mumbling something about a mind palace and trying in vain to decode Moriarty's riddles.

She squinted suddenly as something on the screen caught her eye and leaned in closer to inspect it. It was Big Ben, a hastily spray-painted red scrawl meandering along the clock face to form the words _miss me,_ but that wasn't the strangest thing about it.

"Hey," She began slowly, frowning and throwing a glance back over her shoulder. She snapped her fingers at John. "Hey! Is this stream live?"

"Yeah," John frowned, shuffling from foot to foot. "Why?"

Clara whipped around to face the screen again, her heart pounding in her ears. She squinted to make sure she wasn't imagining things, but no- It was just like she had thought.

The hands of the clock all pointed to the number six. But it was barely past 5:00am.

_Hickory dickory dock. Devil's advocate. The mouse ran up the clock. The clock struck six. __**Six**__._

The clock.

Clara gasped, spinning on her heel to face the puzzled occupants of the room. Her eyes flickered to Moriarty.

"I think I know where the bomb is."

* * *

**Well, I hope that was an exciting thing to read with a nice cup of tea and a biscuit to dunk! **

**Next chapter should be up fairly soon, don't worry.**

**Omg guys has anyone else seen the new trailer for Suicide Squad? I clicked on it so fast when I saw it, it looks amazing omg I can't wait to see it **

**Anyway, thanks for reading :)**


	11. Chapter 11

Clara Oswald had once believed, if not somewhat naively, that she had her life all planned out. That, despite the unpredictable odds, she had some modem of control over her future, if only miniscule. At some point down the road, she knew that she would be expected to put travelling to far away galaxies on the back burner and concentrate on setting down some roots. To stop running. To jot herself in somewhere on the Doctor's haphazard schedule and tell him to pick her up then, and only then. To limit the amount of exploring and adventuring that she was prone to and concentrate on her career, maybe even on starting a family. She would marry someone painstakingly normal, perhaps a lawyer, or a writer- She had always fancied having someone to rave about Jane Austen with- Or even a PE teacher. Someone to act as the polar opposite of her hectic life, someone to keep her grounded, someone to help her to return to normality when she needed it most.

They would live in a nice flat- No, an old house, a building with character that they could refurnish to their own tastes. Maybe somewhere in the country. With a dog. Two dogs. And- Kids? Did she want kids? The idea had scarcely crossed her mind, though a few times it had lurked in the corners of her subconscious, urging her to come to terms with the thought. For some reason, it scared her. It scared her because it was something so concrete, so certain. It held the promise of a permanent shift in priorities, a mound of responsibility that, though it terrified her, she almost wanted to embrace it with open arms. Her fear was achingly irrational.

She was Clara Oswald, she had the power to silence and entire classroom of children with an icy glare and a snap of her fingers, surely she could handle her own offspring. Maybe she _did_ want kids. Children of her own to help with their English homework and to immortalise the memories of her travels with the Doctor in way of retelling the elaborate tales to the enraptured kids. Her unlikely fantasy was short lived. However fanciful this ideal life may be, all hopes for any aspect of it had now evaporated, which was something she had been blind to prior to her abrupt, startling realisation.

Jim Moriarty had somehow weaseled his way into her thoughts and hopes and aspirations, slowly but surely unscrewing each nut and bolt one by one until he shook the very foundations of everything she believed in so firmly.

She looked at him now, the coolly observant man who held so much ground shaking power over her, all that she had thought she knew lying in a shambles of broken pieces around her. He had altered everything, destroyed all that she believed that she wanted, now a sorrowful array of unborn stories better left untold. His conniving disposition and acerbic wit had seeped through the cracks of what was left of her hopes for the future, corroding them like acid.

There was nothing left, except him.

She wanted to hate him, truly she did, but her stubborn heart refused to allow it, instead choosing to select the endeavour of feeling quite the opposite.

"Not to increase the pressure already weighing you down so heavily, but your deadline seems almost…" Jim paused for effect and cast his eyes up towards the ceiling, clearly suppressing a conceited smirk. "Dead."

"You're putting the lives of everyone in London at risk, and you don't even care," Clara breathed incredulously, though she ought not to be surprised at his temerarious tendencies after all they had been through. "And you're involving me! Making me choose- I'm not able to make that decision, Jim!"

Jim yawned loudly, smirking superciliously.

"Boring, boring _tedious_ details," His face contorted in evident disgust, as if repelled by even the mere act of having to dignify her qualms with an answer. "I didn't bring you here to lecture me, Clara."

"Then why did you?" She cried, temporarily overpowered by a surge of anger as she tossed the device back to him. He caught it deftly, though his eyes widened in surprise. "Why did you bring me here? Why _me_? Why are you playing games, if you want to kill a load of innocent people then why don't you just _do it_?"

Jim blinked, momentarily stumped by her outburst. Clara was half sure that he didn't quite know the answer himself, at least to a certain extent. He was constantly searching for distractions, anything to relieve his incessant boredom, so engrossed and enraptured by the thrill of the chase that he didn't fully realise why he wanted to win the game in the first place. Jim Moriarty was an enigma, there was no denying that, but Clara was beginning to understand him just a little bit more.

"Because…" His forehead creased in discontentment and he gestured with his hand as if to grasp the correct words. "Because where's the fun in that? Where's the _finesse_?"

He waved his hand in a fluid motion as he spoke, not unlike a proud chef introducing his piece de resistance. Clara gritted her teeth and took an involuntary step forward, her blood boiling with anger. Jim whistled and his eyebrows shot up.

"My, _my_, you do seem a bit rattled. Have I crossed the line yet?" His eyes twinkled as he let out a slightly strained chuckle. "What's wrong?"

"Should I make a _list_?" Clara choked out, her eyes wide in disbelief at his blatant lack of regard for anything and anyone except himself.

"Someone needs to deal with this _now," _Lestrade boomed before a reply could be uttered, his eyes darting to each of the crowd assembled earnestly. "The way I see it, there's only one conclusion that can come of this twisted situation. Whatever happens, at least one place in London is going to be blown up, and considering both of the places in question are a bit too close for comfort, _you-" _He jabbed a finger at Sherlock, who was standing still as a statue, fingers steepled against his lips and eyes clamped shut in fierce concentration . "Better bloody well come up with a solution!"

"Shut up, Lestrade. I'm thinking."

"Oh yeah?" Lestrade's eyes widened and his voice rose an octave higher. He shifted his weight to his left leg, pushing his coat back and settling his hands on his hips. Clara's theory on where the second bomb was hadn't gone down very well with him. "Care to share some of that genius intellect with the rest of the group?"

"Well, if you insist. Since we're prioritising, I was just thinking that due to the fact that Scotland Yard hasn't appeared to be doing anything of much use recently, it wouldn't be a very significant loss."

"Exactly- What?!"

"Alright, alright, shut up!" Clara's voice was just short of a desperate cry. "We need to be clever here."

"Clara, it's Scotland Yard, which, in case you'd forgotten _we are standing in right now_, or bloody Big Ben, and we can't save both," John ran a hand through his greying hair impatiently. "There is no clever way of getting around this."

"On the contrary, there's always a clever way of getting around things, John," Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he stared directly at Clara. "You just have to have the right connections. If you're intelligent enough, that is. But I think you _are _intelligent enough to connect the dots, aren't you, Clara?"

"Five minutes with the girl and you're already deducing her level of intelligence?" Jim rapped his knuckles on the desk in acute agitation, his tone light but his eyes hard and cold. "However did you come to that conclusion?"

"She's prone to spending time with you, she's been smart enough to stay alive this long," Sherlock replied haughtily, to which Jim's glower grew even darker.

"The right connections…" Clara whispered slowly as realisation dawned on her, flicking her eyes upwards to look at Jim. A slow smile began to spread across her face. The depraved criminal narrowed his eyes at her in response, disconcerted by her sudden display of elation. He clenched his jaw and issued her with a challenging glare.

"Ten minutes."

Clara's blood seemed to freeze in her veins and her stomach plummeted.

"What?"

"_Ten minutes."_

No two words had ever evoked more fear from Clara than at present. Sherlock's face remained stonily unreadable, but Clara caught his sharp inhale of breath at Moriarty's words.

"He's giving us ten minutes before he detonates the bombs himself," Sherlock hissed. Clara's eyes widened in horror.

"That wasn't the deal-"

"He got bored, we lost our chance," The detective ruffled his hair vigorously as he began pacing. Clara knew what they needed right now. The only thing that could save them from this mess. She whipped out her phone and dialed the number of the best helpline in the universe.

Moriarty watched her carefully, his gaze calculating as the cogs whirred in that brilliant mind of his. He observed Clara's actions, scrutinizing her next move in the game as if daring her to put his queen into check.

"I'd ask if you have any last words but we'll be here for days," He crooned, a lazy smile in place on his face, but his eyes were too alert for him to be completely at ease, something Clara did not fail to pick up on.

Ignoring his attempts to disconcert her, she clutched the phone to her ears with trembling fingers, the pounding of her racing heart surpassing the steady thrum of the dialing tone as she willed the recipient of her desperate call to pick up. Finally, a soft click and a familiar cheery voice granted her wish.

"Doctor," She breathed, feeling a flood of relief as sure and strong as the ocean wash over her. Jim's eyes snapped up to glare at her, widened slightly in astonishment. "Doctor, I need to get here _right now_."

The Doctor's tone turned from playful to serious in an instant.

"Should I bring anything?"

"Just yourself and your unwavering willingness to do exactly as I say," Clara replied swiftly, slightly breathless in her haste. Her eyes never left Jim's as she spoke.

There was no need to explain any more than that. The Time Lord sensed the urgency in her tone and asked no further questions, merely promised her of his swift arrival and hung up the phone.

"Look, it's great you're thinking ahead to potential casualties and all that, but we've already got a doctor," Lestrade frowned and jabbed his thumb towards John, who was eyeing Clara warily. "And to be perfectly honest, he's of no use right now either. We need bomb disposal, not a physician."

"I hope your reflexes are as good as your talent for stating the obvious," Clara snatched up the bomb disabling device and tossed it to Lestrade, offering no other retort to his comment. The detective inspector fumbled in surprise but managed to catch the device before it hit the ground, just about maintaining his dignity. "Right, when I give you the signal, you set that thing to disable the bomb under Scotland Yard."

"Are you mad?" John spluttered, eyeing Clara incredulously. "If we do that, Big Ben gets blown into oblivion along with thousands of civilians!"

"Big Ben is going to stay completely intact, actually," Clara smiled smugly, casting a quick glance at Jim who was analysing her intently. "And so is Scotland Yard. No one's dying today, not on my watch," She paused for a second and grinned, exhaling sharply. "I've always wanted to say that."

"You're making no sense-"

"Ah!" Clara made a swift zipping motion with her fingers across her lips, eyes wide as she listened intently. "Do you hear that?"

There it was. That beautiful familiar whooshing sound of the Tardis materialising, like a pair of magnificent wings beating vehemently. She let out a hearty laugh as a faint outline of blue occupied the space in front of them in the middle of the room, steady becoming sharper and more focused which each beat. Lestrade swore and blessed himself, stumbling backwards as he looked at the blue box with wide eyes. Moriarty leapt up from where he was sitting and stared at the Tardis in awe. It was the most human Clara had ever seen him, and for a moment she couldn't take her eyes off his face.

The wooden door creaked open and an adorably eccentric man sporting a large Viking helmet stumbled out. He pushed back the visor and offered Clara a goofy grin that she realised she had missed terribly.

"You called, m'lady?"

"Yes!" Clara blinked as she remembered their predicament and checked the clock quickly. They had just more than five minutes. She turned to the occupants of the room. "Wait for my signal, then disable the bomb. Trust me."

She allowed herself one more look at Jim. He returned her gaze with barely concealed wonder, and Clara knew that this was it, this was exactly what he had wanted. He had wanted her to play the game, to really play it, to make a move that would impress even the likes of a consulting criminal. Feeling a rush of adrenaline course through her veins like white hot electricity, she winked at him and spun around, darting towards the Tardis without looking back. She resorted to dragging the Doctor back inside with her and closed the door, panting slightly. She beamed at the familiar thrum of the Tardis.

"Oh, I've missed this," She allowed herself a brief moment to grin before remembering why she was there in the first place. Whipping around to face him, she gasped. "Doctor, Big Ben! Now!"

The Time Lord didn't take much convincing, and after a brief explanation of the event which were currently unfolding, which the latter got a bit too excited about in Clara's opinion, the machine spluttered to life and they were en route for one of London's greatest landmarks.

Clara didn't dare allow herself to enjoy the journey for fear that she might refuse to leave the blue box ever again, but she didn't have much time to dwell on the fact in any case. In fact, they didn't even have the time to stop. What she was about to do was possibly life threatening and definitely dangerous, but she felt too alive to be scared.

"Don't you dare let me fall," She called over her shoulder as she pushed open the door of the moving spaceship and swung out, hanging suspended over London as the Doctor grabbed onto her feet to prevent her from plummeting to her imminent death. It was exhilarating, and she couldn't stop a grin from spreading across her face as she viewed the glimmering city from upside down.

She swung precariously in front of the vast clock face. It seemed much bigger close up, and the glow hurt her eyes. She squinted at the hands, quickly locating the foreign object which most definitely was not supposed to be attached to them. She stretched but found she couldn't quite reach.

"Think you could get us a bit closer?" She yelled breathlessly, arms flailing in a futile attempt to reach the bomb.

"Alright, hold on!"

"I will if you do!"

The Tardis jolted forwards and the Doctor's hasty apology was drowned out by her surprised scream. The result, however, was as desired. She finally managed to clasp her fingers around the deadly object. After a small struggle, she managed to remove it from the clutches of the hands of the clock and called up to the Doctor. The bomb was heavy, but no bigger than two of her fists. She found it strange how such a small object could have so much potential for destruction.

The Doctor heaved her up into the ship and they shut the door behind them quickly.

"Right, time is of the essence now!" The Doctor yelped, rushing to the console, flipping levers and buttons so quickly that it made Clara's head spin.

Clara took out her phone and dialed Lestrade's number, not daring to look at the time and see how little they had left.

"Come on, come on, pick up," She hissed impatiently, placing the phone on the floor and putting it on loudspeaker. "We nearly there, Doctor?"

"That should do it," The Doctor held his tongue between his teeth in concentration, his eyebrows furrowed as he pulled what Clara assumed to be the handbrake. "Chop chop then, Clara, I don't fancy scratching the paint job on the Tardis today!"

A voice on the other line crackled into life as the pair began lifting the heavy bomb and dragging it towards the door.

"Clara?"

Sherlock had clearly deemed himself the most worthy to speak on this occasion, no surprise there.

"You all set, Sherlock?" She panted as the Doctor kicked the door open with his foot. A mass of black space punctuated with patches of soft swirling mist greeted them. No planets, no stars, just black oblivion. It was perfect.

"Are you one hundred percent certain about this?" Sherlock demanded, his voice slightly strained.

"Yes," Clara yelled, her arms beginning to ache. "On the count of three, you disable the bomb that under your feet."

Clara thought she heard a voice suspiciously like John's protesting in the background but she elected to ignore it.

"Alright," Sherlock relented flatly as the Doctor and Clara began to swing the heavy object back and forth to gain momentum.

"One," The Doctor grunted, jaw clenched.

"Two," Clara gasped as they released their hold on the bomb and threw it into the suffocating darkness.

The Time Lord sprinted to the console and Clara slammed the door shut with a bang.

"Three!" They chorused as the Tardis sprang into action, Clara's heart hammering painfully hard in her chest. There was tense silence on the other end of the phone.

"Well?" Clara picked up her phone with trembling fingers, hardly daring to believe that it had worked. "Is- Is everyone okay?"

"You did it, Clara," Sherlock paused, and Clara nearly wept with relief. "It worked. And you effectively managed to shatter John's nerves in the process. I don't believe he'll ever be the same again."

Clara laughed shakily, looking up at the Doctor with a grin as relief flooded her. Clara Oswald- 1, Jim Moriarty- 0. The Time Lord smiled back brightly.

"Oh, Clara Oswald, I've missed you."

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**This one took me a while to write, I've been so busy and it took a lot of thought! I hope you liked it anyway, thanks for reading! **


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey guys! I wasn't even planning on writing today, but I just spontaneously got motivation and rolled with it. I've been typing for like three hours. My hands are going to fall off.**

**Anyway, I really hope you like this one! It was definitely my favourite to write :D Happy reading, allons-y!**

* * *

Clara pulled open the Tardis doors and immediately wished she hadn't.

Of course she knew Jim couldn't possibly get away with his most recent bout of reckless criminal behaviour, but she hadn't expected _this_. Or maybe she had, but she had just adamantly pushed it to the farthest recesses of her mind in a futile attempt to dismiss it as a possibility. Partially because she didn't want to accept it, and also because she didn't want to admit how she felt about it. She wasn't ready to face up to this decision.

Guns. Lots of them. All pointing directly at their smirking target, Jim Moriarty.

Though the weapons were aimed at the man standing nonchalantly in the centre of the room, all eyes were suddenly transfixed on Clara as she took a tentative step out of the Tardis which had just landed back where they had started in Scotland Yard.

"Um," She glanced over her shoulder at the Doctor as he followed her, eyeing the armed officers nervously. "Don't shoot."

"Impeccable timing as always, Miss Oswald," Jim winked at her, the ghost of a smile playing around his lips as he remained rooted to the spot, his hands raised lazily in surrender. At least five officers were standing in defensive stances with their pistols poised ready to shoot, some which Clara didn't recognise who were currently trying not to stare at the Tardis in bewilderment.

"Clara, we're authorised to shoot this man, I'm going to have to ask you and your friend to leave," It was Lestrade who spoke, his teeth gritted fiercely, a hint of regret mingled with determination in his eyes as he glared at Moriarty. Clara felt her stomach plummet.

"What?" She barely managed to voice the word as her breath was cut off in a sharp, horrified gasp. "No- You can't! You can't kill him!"

"I suppose this is the part where I utter my last words in a needlessly dramatic fashion," Jim turned around slowly, staring down the barrel of each gun briefly before wheeling around to face the Tardis again. "Sherlock, I'm leaving you nothing. John, same goes for you- Ah, actually, maybe I'll leave you with a few broken bones, we'll see how much time I have. And Clara, I'm leaving you my entire criminal network. The show must go on."

Clara choked at his words and Jim laughed, closing his eyes briefly in amusement.

"_Joking_," He sang, his eyes twinkling with mirth. He shifted from foot to foot impatiently. "Well come on then, ladies and gents. Are you going to shoot me or what? You know what they say, hesitation leads to damnation."

"No one says that," Clara growled, though her anger was mainly directed at herself. She shouldn't care in the slightest that a depraved, malicious criminal was on the verge of being wiped off the face of the earth, but she did. She cared too much. "Lestrade, don't shoot him."

"If you don't leave now, I will shoot him right in front of you, Clara, I'm trying to spare you here," He snapped ferociously, his voice raising as his fingers tightened around the trigger. "Get out!"

"Clara, come on," The Doctor tried to lead her back into the Tardis and she whipped around to look at him, hurt that he wasn't on her side here.

"Doctor," She hissed, searching his face but finding nothing but heavy resignation. "We don't walk away."

"We do this time," The Doctor sighed, his gaze holding hers imploringly. That just about pushed Clara over the edge. She snapped, proceeding to make possibly the most horrendously idiotic decision ever and to carry out the most recklessly stupid plan she had ever formulated. She would have to have a serious word with her heart after this and inform it that she was going to follow her head from now on.

"When I said no one is going to die today, _I bloody meant it!" _She yelled, lurching forward and grabbing a surprised Jim Moriarty by the arm. A series of metallic clicks echoed around them as the guns redirected their aim. Lestrade swore underneath his breath, a bead of sweat glistening on his forehead, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Bloody hell, Clara, don't do this," He huffed in barely concealed desperation as Clara dragged Jim towards the Tardis, positioning herself in such a way that she was sure the officers wouldn't be able to get a clear shot.

"Sorry," She whispered, her eyes pleading and apologetic as she pushed Jim into the Tardis, throwing herself in behind him and slamming the doors shut.

The Doctor wasn't happy, she could tell from his stony silence as he set the Tardis into motion whilst eyeing Moriarty warily, but Clara found that her attention was captured by the consulting criminal's reaction to the new world that he had just quite literally stepped into.

"Not possible," He breathed, turning around in a slow circle, his head tilted upwards to take in everything at once, his eyes wide and incredulous. Clara couldn't help but smile at the fact that for once, he was the one in awe of something, not the one evoking it from others.

"Yep, it's possible alright," Clara patted the side of the Tardis affectionately and she hummed indignantly. "She doesn't usually cater for criminals, but considering you were a bit of a damsel in distress…"

"It's-"

"Bigger on the inside, I know," The Doctor couldn't help blurting out the phrase, though his jaw remained taut, his stance tense.

"I was going to say smaller than I expected."

The Doctor scoffed in indignation. Jim began to walk around, awestruck.

"But how- How?" He spun around again, spreading his arms wide as if to emphasise his disbelief. "It's dimensionally transcendental, how- How can we be standing here without the prospect of molecular disintegration?"

"Well, it's all very simple really-" The Doctor began albeit a tad reluctantly, though Clara noticed his eyes lit up at the mention of the technical terms.

"Doctor, maybe save that tale for another time, yeah?" Clara raised her eyebrows at him as the Tardis shuddered to a halt. "This man's got enough stories under his belt to last him a lifetime."

She strode forward and took Jim's hand, causing him to jump in surprise. She tugged him along behind her, making a beeline for the door.

"You and I have a lot to discuss, and I can't promise you'll make it out of this conversation alive," Clara ground out through clenched teeth, her amusement at Jim's reaction to the Tardis dissolving rapidly as her anger resurfaced.

"You're bluffing, you said no one's going to die today, _not on your watch_," Jim teased confidently, and Clara didn't need to look at him to know he had a conceited grin in place on his face. "Watches, clocks… Funny how recurrent those things seem to be today, isn't it?"

"Not funny at all, actually."

"Clara, wait!" The Doctor approached her with a hand outstretched cautiously as she glared at Jim. "I can't leave you alone with him."

"Doctor, I have survived this long- Whoa, wait, what are you doing what _that_?"

The Doctor held a gun not unlike the pistols they had at Scotland Yard, and though it rested by his side inside of being aimed and ready to fire, Clara couldn't help but see a glimpse of the man who had fought in a great war in the way the gun sat snugly in his hand.

"What a shocking turn of events," Jim pulled his hand from Clara's and sauntered over to the Doctor who raised the gun warily. Jim stared at him brazenly and cocked his head to the side. "Once a soldier always a soldier, I suppose."

The Doctor gritted his teeth and took a step forward.

"Ooh, touched a nerve, did I?" Moriarty grinned.

"That's enough of that!" Clara sprang in between the pair, holding her hands out mollyfyingly. She held a shaky palm out to the Doctor. "Doctor, give me the gun."

The Time Lord looked straight past her, his eyes fixed on the smiling villain.

"_Doctor, _you give me that gun or so help me," Clara hated the fact that her voice was trembling, along with her entire frame. She couldn't seem to keep her shaking hand steady.

"Clara, worry will be the death of you," Moriarty's lilting voice trilled from behind her and she took a deep breath and did her best to ignore him.

"Doctor."

She widened her eyes earnestly, pleading with her friend silently and feeling a brief wave of relief when she saw something shift in his eyes. Reluctance. Fear. Anger. Resignation.

He slowly lowered the weapon, and Clara prised it from his slack fingers carefully.

"Okay," She breathed, not sure who she was trying to reassure. "Okay."

She took Jim's hand again, her other fist clutched tightly around the gun, half afriaad that it would go off at any second. She stared at the Doctor gravely.

"Doctor, I'm going to talk to Jim. Alone," She stated flatly. She continued before the Time Lord could argue. "You are going to fly away in your box, and you are going to leave me to it. I will be _fine, _like I always am, and then I will call you, and you can come and see me. But I need to do this first, Doctor. Do you understand me?"

She could tell that he was prepared to give in, and her suspicions were confirmed by his weary nod. Perhaps it was the potentially dangerous firearm in her hand that had convinced him of her safety. It had quite the opposite effect on Clara, she was feeling increasingly on edge the longer it remained in her grasp.

Before the Time Lord could change his mind, she dragged Jim out of the Tardis, not even stopping to close the door behind them as she strode briskly further and further away from the blue box, pausing only when she heard the faint sound of the time machine dematerialising behind them.

"Clara."

She didn't reply. She continued to walk, turning around a corner in an unfamiliar street, quiet and devoid of people. There was a faint sea breeze coming from somewhere, and she realised with a start that she had no idea what town or city they were in. Surely they were still in England; the same ominous grey clouds laden with potential for a downpour loomed overhead.

"_Clara_."

She finally turned to face him, the increasingly strong breeze whipping her hair across her face momentarily. She took a shaky step back, the realisation that it was just him and her here, alone, suddenly striking her. She looked at his dark eyes which were staring at her imploringly, his face suddenly clear of the smug, confident mask, a hint of concern etched into his feature. The fact that he could show such a human emotion after everything he had done almost made Clara want to laugh.

Perhaps it wasn't entirely fair to place all the blame for her falling in love with him on the consulting criminal himself, for she suspected, not without some disdain, that she too was partially at fault as a result of her curious disposition and danger-seeking nature.

This was what she told herself as the first droplets of rain began to fall, and she pushed back the sudden uninvited lump in her throat and took a deep breath.

"I'm just a pawn in your game, is that it?" She hissed. Her voice didn't need to be much above a whisper for her words to have the desired effect. Jim look momentarily affronted before regaining his composure and narrowing his eyes.

"Is that what you think?" He took a step forward, and she took one back. The gun resting at her side suddenly felt uncomfortably heavy in her hand.

"What else am I supposed to think?" She snarled, gritting her teeth to stop her voice from faltering. "You forced me to make a life altering decision-"

"And look how you turned out!" Jim spread his arms wide, raising his voice earnestly. "You did it, you stepped up to the plate and you _beat me_, Clara Oswald. You did exactly what I was hoping you'd do, you were _clever_."

"Don't turn this into something positive!" She cried, the cold from the rain beginning to seep into her bones as the droplets steadily increased. "People could have died-"

"So what?" Jim yelled, his eyes wide, his lack of regard for her concerns painfully evident. "I gave you an opportunity, Clara. It must be awfully aggravating having to constantly be the sidekick in your little duo with the Doctor, I gave you a chance to _shine_."

"I'm an English teacher," Clara spat out fiercely, trembling. "I am a normal, functioning human being and I shouldn't have to be put in that sort of situation, this shouldn't be happening to me! It doesn't make sense-"

"It doesn't make sense because _it's not real_!" Jim burst out, taking another step closer in defiance as he glared at her, and this time Clara didn't step back. His hair was soaked, the drops of rains cascading onto his shoulders as he met her gaze. "This is who you are, Clara Oswald, who you've always been. You're not an ordinary, boring school teacher, you're a danger magnet. You're not able to resist a little bit of a darkness."

You- You-" Clara huffed, practically shaking with anger and momentarily lost for a comeback. He had a point, and she hated him for it. She shivered and blinked the moisture out of her eyes, realising with a start that it wasn't just the rain that was making her eyelashes damp. She fought back her tears of frustration, finding it next to impossible to ignore the dull ache that she felt in her heart when she looked at Jim.

"Okay, okay," Jim pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes shut for a brief second, inhaling deeply. "I'll admit that there sometimes tends to be a certain degree of collateral damage as a result of my schemes-"

"Murder. Murder and destruction are the results of your schemes."

"That's not the point-"

"That's exactly the point!" She cried out, and this time she was the one to take a step closer. "You can't just- You manipulated me!"

"I gave you an offer you couldn't possibly refuse, _that's _your weakness, Clara Oswald, never mind about mine!" He pointed at her almost accusingly and Clara felt her tears begin to cloud her vision. She blinked, letting them fall and mingle with the rain drops on her cold cheeks.

"I think I'm- No I- Why am I crying?" She gasped, struggling to suppress the sob that rose in her throat. She hated the hold her had on her, the way he made her feel. She hated the fact that she couldn't possibly hate him, no matter how hard she tried. She was on the verge of shattering.

"Clara-" Jim's eyes softened suddenly and he stepped forward but Clara jumped back, her heart thudding in her chest.

"No," She fought back a sob, raising the gun with trembling hands and pointing it at him. His lack of emotion in response to her daring move aggravated her. He didn't even appear surprised.

"You wouldn't pull that trigger."

"Wouldn't I?" She yelled, hating how the gun felt in her hand, a foreign object capable of so much pain and harm, hating her tears as they streamed down her cheeks, hating the trembling in her voice.

"Go ahead then," He replied simply with a shrug. "_Shoot me_."

"Shut up!"

"You can't, can you? Why can't you, Clara?"

"Stop it," She sobbed, her tears obscuring her vision and blinding her. "I'm tired of playing your stupid games! You've been manipulating me all this time- How do I know you're not manipulating me right now?"

"You don't know," He quipped back flatly, his face blank as he stared at her. Clara coughed out an angry sigh. The gun trembled with her hand, the metal feeling icy cold against her numb fingers.

"I hate you," She lied with a heart wrenching sob. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't do this. "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you-"

"Well I love you."

Clara choked, drawing in a shuddering breath as she stared at him in shock. Had she misheard?

"W- What?"

"I'm not going to say it again," He shrugged matter-of-factly, closing the distance between them crouching down to press the barrel of the gun to his forehead. Clara's eyes widened at the brazen gesture. Jim's eyes glinted dangerously.

"Now, Clara Oswald. Are you going to pull that trigger?"

Clara shook her head wordlessly and Jim smiled, straightening up abruptly and plucking the gun from her hand.

"Excellent, because I've got a much better use for it."

He squinted at the pistol, turning the end of the barrel toward his face and blew into it briefly, before reaching into his jacket pocket and retrieving a small piece of neatly folded paper which he curled up and shoved into the barrel of the firearm.

"What's that?" Clara whispered as he handed the gun back to her, curling her numb fingers around the weapon gently. He smiled softly.

"A message. But don't worry about that for now."

Clara stared up at him, frozen in place as he cupped her face in his hands almost possessively, wiping away- Was that raindrops or her tears? Clara couldn't tell the difference anymore.

But it didn't matter anyway. Because then he kissed her, and nothing else mattered at all.

Clara was consumed by a euphoric ache in her chest as his lips moved against hers softly, and suddenly everything seemed to be put into focus. She didn't care who he was, she didn't care what he had done, the only thing that mattered was him. She hadn't realised how much she had been longing for this until now.

She wrapped her hands around his neck, her fumbling fingers pulling him closer to her as she tried to make him understand all she couldn't manage to put into words. But Jim Moriarty was clever, quite possibly the cleverest man she had ever met. He knew how she felt. She didn't have to say it.

She wasn't sure when the gun had fallen out of her hands, but now it lay discarded on the ground beside them. Jim pulled back just enough to look into her eyes and Clara brought her hand up to touch his cheek.

"Don't leave," She whispered, knowing full well that he would. "Please."

"Clara Oswald," Jim sighed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Clara closed her eyes as he held her to him, and suddenly she didn't feel so cold despite the incessant rain. She curled her fingers around his shirt, unwilling to let go, but she knew she'd have to. He wasn't going to stay. She sighed as she pressed herself to him, hating that this felt painfully like a goodbye.

"I love you too," She whispered against his shoulder, grateful that he couldn't see her tears. She vowed that when she pulled back, she would be able to hold back the torrent of emotion that was straining to break free.

"I know," He sighed sadly, clutching her tighter. Clara knew how dysfunctional this was, but she also felt like this was where she belonged. She was finding it hard to forgive him for everything he had done, but even so her heart wouldn't allow her to remain angry with him.

Clara felt a stab of panic course through her as he pulled away, her fear of the unknown engulfing her for a moment.

"When am I going to see you again?" She breathed, searching his eyes for some sign of sincerity. His guard was down, and he didn't bother to put it back up as he returned her gaze.

"Soon."

"Promise?"

"I don't do promises."

"Well you owe me," She snapped quickly, narrowing her eyes at him defiantly, issuing him with a challenge. "After all this you have to make it up to me. So you have to come back. Take me out somewhere, I think our relationship can stretch to that."

"Take you out as in on a date or take you out like an assassin? You're going to have to be more specific."

"Shut up," She laughed, pushing him lightly. She smiled when she managed to get a small grin out of him. It felt good to laugh after everything, if only for a brief moment. She struggled to keep her smile in place as she took one of his hands in hers gently. Jim's expression softened at her touch.

"Just come back to me," She whispered, keeping her promise to herself and just about managing to keep her traitor tears at bay.

"Always," He vowed, sincerity in his tone as he cupped the back of her head gently and kissed her forehead again. He pulled away with a sigh, his gaze dropping to the ground by her feet. He raised his eyebrows at the discarded gun.

"Now that's a potential hazard if ever I saw one," He nudged the pistol gentle with his foot, shoving his hands into his pockets and turning away with a final parting smile.

"I'll be seeing you, Clara Oswald," He called as he strode away, raising a hand in a lazy salute. "Do give that message to the Doctor from me, won't you?"

Clara wiped away a stray tear quickly. Jim's back was to her, so it didn't count as letting him see her cry. She bent down to pick up the gun hesitantly, her heart sinking as Jim disappeared around the corner. She felt unbearably cold and alone.

She handled the gun carefully with trembling fingers, numb with the cold and pulled out the small note with a pounding pulse. She hurried to duck into a nearby doorway, hoping for some kind of shelter for the elements as she unfurled the small piece of paper.

A message for the Doctor, he had said. That didn't bode well.

Two words were written on the crumpled fragment of paper, the letters beginning to merge as the rain drops mixed with the ink. Clara's heart plummeted sickeningly, liquid dread running through her veins.

_Everything Burns._

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**SO WHAT DID YOU THINK? :D Please tell me you ship it, WHY ISN'T THIS SHIP BIGGER UGH. **

**OH- Off topic for a sec, what do y'all think of the new companion? No one will ever replace Clara for me I love her to bits but I actually really like this new companion already! Thoughts?**

**So anyway, that's chapter- What's it now? Twelve? Yes, twelve like Capaldi. I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it, thanks for reading!**


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